Constance  stood  waiting. 


THE  RED  BUTTON 


By 
WILL  IRWIN 

AUTHOR  OF 

The  City  that  Was,  Etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

MAX  J.  SPERO 


SYNDICATE    PUBLISHING    COMPANY 

NEW    YORK  LONDON 


COPYRIGHT  1912 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 

1732,, 


CHAPTER 

I  THE  BOARDERS        1 

II  THE  CHIEF 27 

» 

III  MBS.  HANSKA'S  STORY 52 

IV  A  MAN  WHO  LAI;GKS 74 

V  TOMMY  NORTH        90 

VI  TWIN  STARS        106 

VII  FACING  THE  Mvsic       .     .fc 131 

VIII  COQUETTISH  McG-EE 155 

IX  MOVING  THE  PAWNS 175 

X  A  LONE  HAND        189 

XI  CRYING  IT  Orr 199 

XII  THE  PEREZ  FAMILY .     .  210 

XIII  A  CRITICAL  MOMENT        222 

XIV  THE  FINAL  TEST 236 

XV  JOHN  TALKS ' 2i7 

XVI  A  STROKK  or  Lrcic 259 

XVII  THE  LAST  SEANCK 275 

XVIII  THE  THIRD  DECREE .  288 

XIX  A  RI-SE 313 

XX  WHEN  DIMPLES  WIN        329 

XXI  TAKING  STOCK 352 

XXII  HAPPY  EVER  AFTER 366 


1521066 


THE  RED  BUTTON 


THE   BOARDERS 

REGARDING  the  events  of  that  rainy 
autumn  evening  at  Mrs.  Moore's  board 
ing-house  in  the  far  West  Twenties  of  New 
York,  accounts  differ  somewhat — although 
not  enough,  after  all,  but  that  we  may  piece 
together  a  connected  story.  Until  the  great 
event,  they  were  trivial.  It  was  the  reflected 
light  of  the  tragedy  which  gave  them  their 
importance. 

Most  of  the  boarders  remained  indoors,  since 
it  was  too  wet  in  the  early  evening  for  faring 
out-of-doors  with  comfort.  After  dinner, 
Miss  Harding  and  Miss  Jones,  stenographers, 
who  shared  a  room-and-alcove  on  the  second 
floor,  entertained  "company"  in  the  parlor  on 
the  ground  floor — two  young  office-mates  who 

1 


2  THE  RED  BUTTON 

figure  but  dimly  in  this  tale.  These  callers 
came  at  eight  o'clock.  A  few  minutes  later 
Professor  Noll  joined  them.  Professor  Noll 
was  a  diet  delusionist,  the  assistant  editor  of  a 
health-food  magazine.  He  lived  on  the  third 
floor,  across  the  hall  from  Captain  Hanska,  in 
a  room  furnished  (as  the  Captain  himself  re 
marked  during  one  of  his  genial  moments )  with 
all  the  horrors  of  home.  For  Professor  Noll 
had  traveled  widely,  gathering  experience  and 
junk;  and  in  every  port  of  the  world  he  had 
bought  freely  of  gilt-and-trash  curios.  He 
was  as  proud  of  that  bizarre  apartment  as 
though  it  had  been  the  Louvre.  A  charming 
old  man  was  Professor  Noll  when  he  dis 
mounted  from  his  hobby — and  occasionally 
when  he  rode  it,  too.  A  thick  tangle  of  silver- 
silk  hair  and  a  little  pair  of  china-blue  eyes 
accented  a  personality  all  innocence,  gaiety, 
and  old-age  prattle. 

Miss  Harding  and  Miss  Jones  had  not  ar 
rived  at  that  point  with  their  young  men  where 
they  wanted  to  visit  alone.  When  Professor 
Noll  entered  and  suggested  music,  they  wel 
comed  him.  He  sat  down  to  the  piano,  there 
fore,  and  they  all  sang  the  foolish  ephemeral 


THE  BOARDERS  3 

songs  of  the  picture-shows.  Mrs.  Moore  stood 
in  the  hall  for  a  time,  listening.  Miss  Jones 
spied  her  and  invited  her  in.  She  was  a  land 
lady  of  the  lugubrious  type;  she  wept  silently 
over  the  sentimental  passages  with  rhymes  on 
"posey,"  "cosey"  and  "proposey";  and  even 
tually  she  joined  her  voice  with  the  singing. 
Once  or  twice  she  left  momentarily  to  look 
after  towels,  furnace-heat  and  other  house 
wifely  cares.  One  of  these  tours  took  her  to 
the  top  of  the  house,  where  Miss  Estrilla,  the 
lady  sick  with  weak  eyes,  lived  in  a  half -dark 
ened  rear  room.  She  was  a  newcomer,  this 
Miss  Estrilla,  and  not  yet  well  enough  to  take 
her  meals  in  the  dining-room.  Miss  Estrilla's 
brother,  a  slim,  mercurial  little  Latin  with  an 
entertaining  trick  of  the  tongue,  was  reading 
to  her  by  a  shaded  lamp,  as  he  often  did  of 
evenings.  When  Mrs.  Moore  rejoined  the 
others,  they  were  singing  full-voice. 

On  the  stairs  Mrs.  Moore  met  Captain  Han- 
ska  passing  up  from  his  late  and  solitary  din 
ner.  He  was  a  little  irregular  about  meals; 
and  this  evening  he  had  come  in,  demanding 
dinner,  after  everything  was  cleared  away. 
Half  the  boarding-house  liked  Captain  Han- 


4  THE  RED  BUTTON 

ska,  and  half  disliked  him.  Rather  ( and  more 
accurately)  all  half -liked  and  half -hated  him. 
A  large  man,  of  forty-five  or  so,  he  looked  at 
first  sight  rather  bloated,  and  at  second  only 
gross  and  big  through  the  accumulation  of 
middle-aged  muscle  and  the  thicker  flow  of 
middle-aged  blood.  He  was  bull-necked, 
broad-shouldered,  wide  of  waist  and  heavy  of 
leg.  Everything  about  him  denoted  old 
strength  gone  stale.  In  face  he  showed  the 
traces  of  what  must  have  been  great  youthful 
comeliness.  Even  now,  he  had  an  eye  which 
could  be  both  keen  and  kind  when  his  mood  was 
gentle.  Those  moods  of  his  puzzled  every 
one.  No  man  could  be  more  irritable  at  times ; 
yet,  none,  as  all  the  feminine  part  of  the  house 
testified,  could  be  more  charming,  more  under 
standing  of  women.  There  was  a  curious  qual 
ity  beneath  all  that,  a  quality  which  none  of 
Mrs.  Moore's  boarders  had  the  discernment  to 
formulate.  It  was  as  though  some  inner  driv 
ing  energy  sought  an  outlet,  and  found  no  way 
through  that  accumulation  of  flesh  and  blood 
and  muscle. 

Before  he  started  up  the  stairs,  he  paused  an 


THE  BOARDERS  5 

instant  at  the  parlor  door  and  looked  upon  the 
singers. 

"Come  on  in — the  water's  fine!"  called  Miss 
Harding  jocularly. 

Captain  Hanska  returned  no  answer.  Ap 
parently  one  of  his  sardonic  gibes  was  on  his 
lips,  but  he  let  it  die  there.  And  he  turned 
away. 

"He  can  cer-tainly  be  a  grouch  when  he 
wants  to,"  said  Miss  Harding,  as  though  apolo 
gizing  to  the  young  men. 

"Fierce!"  exclaimed  Miss  Jones.  And  they 
resumed  their  singing.  As  Captain  Hanska 
passed  Mrs.  Moore  on  the  lower  flight  of  stairs, 
his  head  was  bent  and  he  gave  no  sign  of  recog 
nition. 

Mrs.  Moore  'did  not  leave  the  parlor,  she 
testified  afterward,  until  Mr.  Lawrence  Wade 
called,  asking  for  Captain  Hanska.  As  on 
previous  occasions,  he  gave  her  his  card,  which 
read:  "Mr.  Lawrence  Wade,  Curfew  Club." 
He  had  called  before;  whether  two  or  three 
times,  Mrs.  Moore's  memory  would  never  serve 
to  tell.  But  she  recognized  him  perfectly — 
she  would  have  known  him  anywhere,  she  said. 


6  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Gee,  who's  your  swell  friend — he  cer-tainly 
could  lead  me  up  blushing  to  the  altar,"  had 
been  Miss  Harding's  tribute  the  first  time  she 
saw  him.  For  he  was  very  comely — a  comeli 
ness  that  was  a  perfect  blend  of  caste  and  char 
acter.  And  that  night  she  flashed  a  languish 
ing  roll  of  her  big  eyes  after  the  tall  figure  as 
it  disappeared.  "That  fellow  would  do  for  a 
clothing  house  ad — 'our  collars  fit  round  the 
neck' !"  she  whispered  to  the  company ;  where 
upon  every  one  giggled. 

Mrs.  Moore  carried  the  card  to  Captain 
Hanska's  room  on  the  third  floor. 

"What  is  it?"  he  growled,  as  she  knocked. 

"Mr.  Wade  to  see  you,"  she  replied. 

She  remembered  afterward  that  he  paused 
for  an  instant  before  he  answered;  also  she 
heard  a  rustling  as  though  some  one  were  mov 
ing  about. 

"I've  gone  to  bed,"  he  said  after  the  pause. 
"Where  is  he?  Down-stairs?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then  show  him  up,"  said  the  Captain,  "but 
say  I've  gone  to  bed." 

Mrs.  Moore  turned  back  to  summon  Mr. 


THE  BOARDERS  7 

Wade;  as  she  did  so,  Mr.  Estrilla  came  down 
from  the  floor  above. 

"Oh,  good  evening,  Mr.  Estrilla!"  said  Mrs. 
Moore.  "Did  your  sister — " 

Just  then  the  voice  of  Captain  Hanska  broke 
in  from  behind  the  door. 

"Wait  a  minute.  Ask  Mr.  Wade  if  he 
minds  my  not  getting  up.  I've  a  cold  and  I've 
taken  some  medicine." 

"Very  well,  Captain,"  replied  Mrs.  Moore. 
Estrilla,  seeing  that  she  was  engaged,  went  on 
down-stairs  to  the  front  door. 

This  narrative  has  gone,  so  far,  from  the 
point  of  view  of  Mrs.  Moore.  We  will  shift 
now  to  Miss  Harding ;  for  a  time  let  her  mind 
be  the  crystal  of  our  thought.  We  shall  find 
it  a  scattering  and  superficial  mind,  but  fur 
nished  forth  with  good  memory,  the  trick  of 
observation,  and  an  instinct  for  concrete  ex 
pression.  A  moment  before  Mrs.  Moore  came 
back  and  told  Mr.  Wade  that  Captain  Hanska 
would  see  him,  Mr.  Estrilla  appeared  at  the 
door  of  the  parlor.  Although  they  had  seen 
but  little  of  him  at  Mrs.  Moore's,  he  was  popu 
lar  for  a  Latin  Lightness  of  temperament,  a 


8  THE  RED  BUTTON 

cheerful  and  winning  smile,  a  nimble  wit  which 
lost  nothing  because  of  his  quaint  accent,  and 
various,  winsome,  actor  tricks  which  Mrs. 
Moore  called  "capers."  At  that  moment  they 
were  singing  Yip-hi-addy-hi-ay,  then  in  its  first 
run.  Mr.  Estrilla,  bundled  up  in  hat  and 
mackintosh,  cut  a  curvet  in  the  hall,  kicked  out 
one  of  his  small  Andalusian  feet,  joined  a  note 
of  the  chorus  in  a  pleasant,  light,  tenor  voice, 
changed  to  a  falsetto  tone  which  was  plainly  an 
imitation  of  Miss  Harding's  singing,  arid 
whirled  toward  the  outer  door.  Miss  Harding 
called : 

"Come  in  and  sing!"  But  Mr.  Estrilla  only 
pivoted  through  the  door,  calling : 
"Buenas  noches — yip-hi-addy-hi-ay !" 
Perhaps  five  minutes  later,  Miss  Harding 
went  up-stairs  for  a  handkerchief.  For  a  mo 
ment  she  was  absent-minded — a  rare  thing  with 
her — so  that  instead  of  turning  on  the  second 
floor,  where  her  room  was  situated,  she  con 
tinued  another  flight  and  brought  up,  suddenly 
aware  of  her  mistake,  at  the  third-floor  landing. 
Something  held  her  there  for  a  moment — the 
sound  of  high  words  from  Captain  Hanska's 
room.  Miss  Harding  paused  longer  than  nee- 


THE  BOARDERS  9 

essary.  She  was  an  honorable  girl  enough, 
but  the  most  honorable  of  us  pay  instinctive 
tribute  to  our  curiosity. 

"I  tell  you  both  I  won't,"  came  Captain 
Hanska's  rather  harsh  voice. 

"Oh,  I  think  perhaps  I  can  make  you  change 
your  mind,"  came  other  accents  which,  Miss 
Harding  reflected,  went  perfectly  with  the  per 
sonality  of  Mr.  Lawrence  Wade. 

"Some  sort  of  a  rumpus  going  on  up  there," 
said  Miss  Harding  as  she  regained  the  parlor. 
Then  remembering  that  she  must  account  to 
Miss  Jones  for  her  presence  on  the  third  floor 
— the  bachelor  quarters  of  the  establishment — 
she  added  vaguely,  "You  can  hear  it  just  as 
plain!" 

They  had  all  stopped  singing  from  very 
weariness  of  voice,  and  Mrs.  Moore  and  Pro 
fessor  Noll  had  retired  to  leave  the  young 
couples  alone  with  their  devices,  when  Mr. 
Wade  appeared  again  in  the  hall — this  time  on 
his  way  out.  Every  one  saw  him  plainly,  espe 
cially  Miss  Harding,  who  sat  facing  the  door. 

"Look,  who's  here,  Essie!"  she  whispered  in 
an  undertone  to  Miss  Jones.  As  she  recalled 
it  afterward,  he  seemed  a  little  pale.  He  cast 


10  THE  RED  BUTTON 

no  more  than  one  quick  absent  glance  at  the 
group  by  the  piano ;  and  the  door  closed  behind 
him. 

Mrs.  Moore  had  gone  to  bed  on  the  ground 
floor.  But  Professor  Noll  did  not  retire  im 
mediately.  A  basic  principle  of  the  Noll 
Scientific  Plan  of  Diet  was  light  alimentation 
before  retiring.  By  his  special  arrangement 
with  Mrs.  Moore,  the  maid,  after  cleaning  up 
from  dinner,  always  left  a  glass  of  hygienic  but 
termilk  and  two  protose  biscuits  on  the  side 
board.  Professor  Noll  ate  slowly,  glancing  at 
his  watch  now  and  then  that  he  might  assure 
himself  as  to  the  ptoper  timing  on  each  mouth 
ful.  So  he  did  not  go  up-stairs  until  just  be 
fore  the  company  left.  Captain  Hanska,  as  I 
have  said,  lived  just  across  the  hall  from  him. 
The  light  was  out  in  the  Captain's  room,  he 
remembered,  and  everything  seemed  quiet. 
Nothing,  he  testified  afterward,  happened  to 
disturb  his  sleep;  "however," — he  managed  to 
throw  in — "scientific  diet  makes  sound  slum 
ber."  Within  ten  minutes,  the  "company"  left 
and  the  young  women  went  to  their  room. 
There  was  silence  in  the  house. 

Silence  until  half  past  two  o'clock — and  then 


THE  BOARDERS  11 

Tommy  North,  who  occupied  the  third  floor 
front,  came  home  from  a  stag  smoker  drunk. 

He  stood  at  a  parlous  cross-road  of  his  life, 
this  Tommy  North.  He  was  an  attractive 
young  man — stubby,  bright-eyed,  red-headed, 
quick-tongued,  and  twenty-eight.  His  busi 
ness  of  writing  and  selling  advertising  gave  him 
all  kinds  of  contact  with  all  kinds  of  attractive 
people  who  liked  him  for  his  flashes  of  wit  and 
his  genuine  warmth  of  heart.  They  were  the 
kind  of  people,  unfortunately,  who  conduct 
their  social  life  before  gilded  bars,  or  about 
luxurious  cafe  tables.  So  it  happened  that 
Tommy  was  sowing  wild  oats  and  irrigating 
them  with  good  liquor;  and  they  had  begun  to 
sprout  in  his  system.  This  was  not  the  first 
time  that  he  had  returned,  uncertain  of  tongue 
and  foot,  in  the  hours  of  vice.  On  the  last  oc 
casion,  he  made  so  much  noise  that  Miss  Hard 
ing  refused  him  her  countenance  for  a  week 
and  Mrs.  Moore  gave  him  warning.  That 
warning,  rested  at  the  bottom  of  his  maudlin 
psychology  as  he  crept  up  to  the  front  door, 
unlocked  it,  and  stole  within. 

"Must  avoid  disgrace,"  he  muttered  to  him 
self;  "awful  brand  on  young  manhood.  Fair 


12  THE  RED  BUTTON 

women  avoid  me.  Pestilence."  At  this 
thought,  he  dropped  a  tear.  Suddenly,  his 
mind  turned  full  revolution  and  the  situation 
occurred  to  him  as  ridiculous.  Whereat  he 
laughed — beneath  his  breath,  as  he  thought. 
The  vigilant  Mrs.  Moore,  who  woke  at  every 
night  entrance  of  lodgers,  heard  that  raucous 
laughter.  She  leaped  out  of  bed,  opened  her 
door  a  crack,  and  observed  Tommy  as  he  stood 
balancing  himself  under  the  dim  point  of  the 
gas-jet.  Oblivious  to  the  open  door  and  the 
watchful  eye,  he  made  a  turn  about  the  newel- 
post  and  began  putting  one  foot  cautiously 
before  the  other,  saying  over  and  over  a 
drunken  refrain  which  ran : 

"Hay  foot — straw  foot — one  goes  up  and  the 
other  goes  down."  So  he  vanished  from  the 
vision  of  Mrs.  Moore.  By  similar  devices  he 
negotiated  the  stretch  of  hall  carpet  on  the  sec 
ond  floor,  and  took  the  next  flight.  He  was 
near  his  haven  now — his  own  room,  third  floor 
front.  In  the  dim  hall  light,  he  balanced  him 
self  and  let  his  tongue  play  again. 

"Energy  and  perseverance — victory  almost 
won,"  he  said.  "Just  talk  to  your  feet  and 
let  'em  do  your  work."  But  the  muscular  ef- 


THE  BOARDERS  13 

fort  of  climbing  two  flights  had  sent  his  liquor 
surging  to  his  head,  so  that  he  dizzied  and  stag 
gered.  He  caught  the  banister  for  support. 
Then  something,  real  or  fancied,  caught  his  eye 
— something  which  held  his  drunken  attention. 
He  stooped  and  clutched  at  it.  The  effort 
overbalanced  him  and  sent  him  sprawling  on 
his  hands  into  some  wet  sticky  substance. 

"Fearful  careless  housekeeping,"  he  said  as 
he  regained  his  feet,  "forces  me  to  extreme 
measure  wiping  hands  on  shirt.  No  other 
place  to  wipe  hands.  Renewed  necessity 
arises" —  he  stopped  and  repeated  the  phrase 
with  inordinate  delight —  "renewed  necessity 
for  reaching  own  room."  He  took  the  last 
three  yards  in  a  series  of  staggering  bounds 
which  landed  him  with  a  thump  against  his 
door.  He  caught  the  knob  as  he  fell,  and  the 
barrier  opened,  letting  him  tumble  on  his  own 
motion  to  the  floor.  He  kicked  the  door  shut 
as  he  lay  prostrate,  and  then  managed  to  pull 
himself  upright  and  reach  the  eledtric-light  but 
ton — for  Mrs.  Moore  burned  gas  in  the  halls 
for  economy,  but  electric  lights  in  the  rooms. 
The  two  tumbles  had  thrown  him  into  another 
state  of  consciousness;  his  head  began  to  clear 


14  THE  RED  BUTTON 

and  his  motions  to  steady.  So  he  turned,  his 
predicament  still  in  his  mind,  to  the  wash-stand 
in  the  corner. 

Above  it  hung  a  mirror.  In  passing, 
Tommy's  gaze  swept  the  glass,  leaped  back, 
caught  on  what  blanched  his  face  to  a  sickly 
white,  what  steadied  his  unsteady  figure  until 
it  stood  straight  and  stiff,  what  cleared  his  head 
so  violently  that  he  could  think  with  all  the 
swiftness  of  terror. 

On  his  dress  shirt-front  was  the  imprint  of  a 
huge  red  hand. 

"Whose?"  Tommy  asked  himself  one  in 
stant.  The  next,  his  gaze  bounded  from  the 
mirror  to  his  own  hands. 

Blood  mired  his  fingers.  On  his  coat  was 
blood,  on  his  sleeve  was  blood,  on  his  knees  was 
blood,  on  his  very  shoes.  He  looked  at  the 
mirror  again.  Across  his  chin  zigzagged  a 
dark  red  line — blood  also. 

His  first  sane  thought  was  that  he  had  cut 
himself,  and  was  bleeding  to  death.  He  looked 
again  at  his  hands,  but  saw  no  wound.  Then, 
drunken  memories  lingering  a  little  in  his  sober 
mind,  he  remembered  the  fall  and  the  process 
of  wiping  his  hands.  He  ran  back  to  the  hall- 


THE  BOARDERS  15 

way,  turned  up  the  pin-point  of  light  on  the 
gas-jet.  There  it  was,  a  thin  stream  of  blood, 
spotted  a  little  where  he  had  fallen  in  it.  And 
it  was  widest  where  it  began  its  flow — at  the 
threshold  of  Captain  Hanska's  door.  In  a 
weak  access  of  real  terror,  he  fell  to  pounding 
on  the  wall  and  shouting: 

"Murder!     Murder!" 

Suddenly  mastering  himself,  he  seized  the 
knob  of  Captain  Hanska's  door.  The  latch 
gave  way — it  was  not  locked.  But  it  opened 
no  more  than  a  foot  or  two — scarcely  enough 
to  give  a  man  passage — when  something 
blocked  it  from  behind.  In  the  temporary 
weakness  of  his  will,  Tommy  North  shrank 
back  from  entering  such  a  place  of  veritable 
horror.  He  shouted  again;  and  now  Profes 
sor  Noll,  looking  in  his  bathrobe  like  a  strange 
priest  of  a  strange  Eastern  rite,  rushed  from 
his  room  gaspktg: 

"What's  the  natter?" 

The  blood,  the  pale,  gibbering,  dabbled 
young  man,  >vere  explanation  enough.  He 
himself  opened  the  door  as  far  as  it  could  go, 
and  edged  into  the  room. 

"Matched,  quick!"  he  called  from  within. 


16  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Tommy  North  found  his  match-case;  and  the 
mastery  of  another  mind,  with  the  example  of 
better  courage,  drew  him  after  Professor  Noll. 
He  lighted  a  match,  held  it  up.  It  flared  and 
blazed  until  it  burned  his  ringers.  In  that  flick 
ering  transitory  light  they  saw  all  that  it  was 
necessary  to  see. 

Captain  Hanska's  body  blocked  the  door. 
He  lay  dressed  in  his  pajamas,  the  shrunken 
relic  of  what  had  been  a  portly  man — lay  on 
his  back  with  his  hands  lifted  over  his  head  as 
though  he  were  clutching  at  the  air.  From  his 
breast  stuck  the  haft  of  a  great  knife ;  and  from 
the  wound  the  pool  of  blood  flowed  to  the 
threshold.  The  match  went  out;  and  with  a 
common  impulse  Tommy  North  and  Professor 
Noll  struggled  to  see  who  would  be  first  to  get 
back  through  that  door. 

There  followed  alarms,  screams,  the  running 
of  women,  hysterics  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Moore, 
who  had  started  from  bed  at  Tommy's  first 
cry.  Tommy  North,  albeit  ordinarily  a  brave 
and  resourceful  young  man  enough,  was  of  no 
use  in  this  crisis,  what  with  the  compression  of 
ten  emotional  years  into  ten  minutes  of  life. 
Worse  for  him,  the  hen-minded  Mrs.  Moore, 


THE  BOARDERS  17 

seeing  the  blood,  cried,  "You  murderer!" 
clutched  at  his  coat,  and  fell  into  a  faint. 
Upon  Professor  Noll  devolved  the  masculine 
guidance  of  this  affair.  And  he  thought  first, 
not  of  the  police,  but  of  a  doctor.  By  this 
time,  Miss  Harding  and  Miss  Jones  were  weep 
ing  breast  to  breast ;  Mrs.  Moore  had  recovered 
to  say  that  she  always  expected  it  of  Mr. 
North,  and  Miss  Estrilla,  the  invalid  lady  on 
the  top  floor,  had  called  from  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  "What  is  it  ?"  With  the  brutality  which 
impels  us  in  crises  to  confide  unpalliated  hor 
rors,  some  one  shrieked,  "Hanska's  murdered!" 
There  came  from  above  some  Spanish  ejacula 
tions  to  which  no  one  paid  much  attention,  and 
then  a  rattling  of  the  hook  of  the  telephone, 
which  hung  on  a  door-post  in  that  fourth-floor 
hall. 

Professor  Noll,  his  mind  still  on  the  necessity 
for  calling  a  doctor,  slipped  into  ulster  and  bed- 
shoes  and  rushed  across  the  street  to  rouse  the 
house  physician  in  the  apartment-hotel.  He 
was  some  time  making  himself  known  and 
understood.  As  he  neared  his  own  door  again, 
he  saw  Mr.  Estrilla  entering  almost  on  the 
run. 


18  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"There's  been  a  murder !  Captain  Hanska's 
killed!"  Professor  Noll  called  after  him. 

"I  know — my  seester  telephone — she  is 
frighten',''  Estrilla  called  back  shrilly  over  his 
shoulder.  And  he  hurried  up  the  stairs. 

By  this  time,  the  open  door,  the  fluttering 
lights,  the  screams  and  hysterics,  had  begun  to 
attract  the  attention  of  this  and  that  late  pedes 
trian.  A  milkman  pulled  up,  hitched,  and 
entered;  and  then  a  night-faring  printer. 
Presently  the  little  knot  in  the  street  and  the 
parlors  was  augmented  by  a  woman,  fully  and 
rather  over-luxuriously  dressed,  as  though  for 
the  theater — a  big  picture  hat  and  a  black  satin, 
fur-edged  evening  coat  over  a  light  gown  which 
showed  here  and  there  the  glitter  of  sequins. 
She  was  a  large  but  shapely  woman  of  uncer 
tain  age ;  yet  so  pleasing  withal  that  the  gather 
ing  loafers,  even  in  the  excitement  of  a  mur 
der,  spared  a  few  admiring  glances  at  her  face. 
Her  expression  changed  momentarily  with  each 
sound  from  above;  and  with  these  changes  the 
ghost  of  a  line  of  dimples  played  about  her 
generous  mobile  mouth.  The  mouth,  the  dim 
ples,  the  peaked  chin,  the  rather  small  straight 
nose,  all  appeared  in  strange  contrast  to  her 


THE  BOARDERS  19 

large  light  eyes,  which  arrested  attention  at 
once  through  a  curious  appearance  of  looking 
far  away. 

The  printer  and  the  milkman  hastened  to  tell 
her  their  news.  Some  row  was  on  up  there; 
they'd  overheard  something  about  a  murder. 
At  that  word,  the  strange  woman  with  quick 
efficient  gestures,  drew  off  her  long  evening 
gloves,  straightened  out  the  fingers,  rolled  them 
into  a  neat  ball,  and  put  them  away  in  her 
muff. 

"I'm  goin'  up,"  she  confided  to  her  fellows. 
"I  belong  there — they  need  a  sensible  woman, 
from  the  way  they're  screechin'.  You  better 
not  follow — you'll  do  no  good  an'  it  might  git 
you  involved."  With  surprising  lightness, 
considering  her  bulk,  she  mounted  the  stairs. 

The  noise  guided  her  to  the  focus  of  interest ; 
she  pushed  her  way  into  the  room  of  the  late 
Captain  Hanska,  and  stood  looking  about  with 
a  pair  of  large  serious  eyes  which  took  in  every 
detail.  She  bent  her  gaze  on  the  dead  man, 
stooped,  made  quick  examination,  first  of  the 
wound  and  then  of  his  face.  Both  Mrs.  Moore 
and  Miss  Harding  were  about  to  ask  this 
stranger  to  account  for  herself,  when  the  doc- 


20  THE  RED  BUTTON 

tor,  half-dressed  but  carrying  his  bag,  edged 
past  the  door.  All  turned  to  him.  He  looked 
but  an  instant  on  the  face. 

"He's  dead,"  he  said  calmly  and  briefly. 

At  this  confirmation  of  what  every  one  al 
ready  knew,  Mrs.  Moore  fainted  again — 
tumbled  into  the  arms  of  Miss  Harding.  Miss 
Jones,  with  a  feeling  that  she  must  do  the  right 
thing  now  that  the  doctor  was  looking,  rushed 
over  and  opened  both  windows.  If  Mrs. 
Moore  expected  attention  from  the  doctor,  she 
was  balked.  He  was  making  a  more  careful 
examination  and  that  lady  gradually  revived 
of  her  own  motion. 

"He  has  been  dead  for  some  time — not  long 
enough  for  rigor  mortis  to  set  in,  but  he's  cold 
and  the  blood  has  begun  to  congeal,"  he  said  at 
length.  "Has  any  one  notified  the  police? 
Has  any  one  called  up  a  Coroner?" 

"I'll  attend  to  that,"  volunteered  the  strange 
woman,  with  an  air  of  perfect  competence  and 
command;  "where's  the  phone — ground  floor 
and  top  floor  hall?  All  right;  I'll  use  the  top 
floor;  that's  nearer.  Any  particular  Coroner, 
Doctor?  Lipschutz?  All  right." 

The  doctor  gave  a  look  of  inquiry  at  her  rai- 


THE  BOARDERS  21 

ment,  so  grotesquely  mismatched  with  such  a 
scene.  Tommy  North,  already  perceiving 
what  might  happen  to  a  young  man  caught  all 
blood-smeared  in  proximity  to  a  murder,  threw 
a  quick  appealing  glance  of  his  own.  The 
woman  seemed  to  catch  the  inquiry  and  the 
appeal. 

"Don't  you  worry,  young  man.  I've  got  no 
connection  with  the  police,  an'  if  you  didn't  do 
this  thing  you're  all  right,"  and  then  to  the 
doctor :  "My  name  is  Madame  Le  Grange,  I 
own  the  house  at  442 — across  the  street. 
Never  mind,  my  dear — "  this  to  Miss  Harding, 
who  showed  signs  of  coming  out  of  her  stupor 
and  following.  With  a  businesslike  air,  she 
bustled  up-stairs,  called  police  headquarters, 
informed  them  there  had  been  a  murder  at  445 
and  the  doctor  wanted  Coroner  Lipschutz — 
also,  they  had  better  send  some  policemen. 
This  done,  she  spent  a  moment  in  thought  be 
fore  she  descended. 

In  the  hall,  she  met  the  regular  patrolman, 
who  had  received  the  news  at  last.  The  limb 
of  the  law  had  forbidden  the  augmented  crowd 
at  the  door  to  follow  him;  he  was  ascending 
alone.  The  sight  of  this  woman  in  her  fash- 


22  THE  RED  BUTTON 

ionable  clothes — or  was  it  her  compelling  look 
of  command — stopped  him. 

"Listen,"  she  said,  "there's  only  a  second. 
Never  mind  who  I  am.  Look  at  this."  She 
produced  the  old  and  worn  piece  of  paper 
which  she  had  drawn  from  her  bag  a  minute 
before. 

"To  the  police,"  it  read.  "Any  matter  that 
concerns  the  bearer,  Mrs.  Rosalie  Le  Grange, 
is  to  be  referred  to  me.  I  request  you  to  give 
her  the  greatest  discretion. 

"INSPECTOR  MARTIN  McGEE." 

"Not  a  word,"  pursued  Rosalie  Le  Grange. 
"Now  mind  I  didn't  see  this  thing,  an'  I  don't 
know  as  much  about  it  as  you.  But  it's  your 
job  to  tip  me  off  to  the  reserves  as  soon  as  they 
come — make  them  understand  that  they  ain't 
to  stop  me  whatever  I  do.  And  remember" — 
now  the  woman  smiled  in  a  meaning  way — 
"you  got  here  just  as  quick  as  you  could — not 
a  second  later — I'll  stick  to  that.  Now  get 
inside."  She  waited  a  moment,  before  she 
followed  him. 

Tommy  North,  fairly  green  now,  was  sitting 


THE  BOARDERS  23 

on  a  couch  in  his  ghastly  raiment.  At  that 
moment,  Senor  Estrilla  came  down  the  stairs 
from  his  sister's  room.  He  had  opened  his 
raincoat,  but  it  was  still  wet.  He  had  turned 
up  his  hat  brim,  but  an  occasional  drop  fell. 

"My  seester  is  better,"  he  said.  "Oh,  can  I 
assist  ?"  And  while  he  helped  the  men  to  cover 
the  body,  he  listened  to  scattered  explanations 
from  the  women. 

Now  the  reserves  had  come ;  and  after  them, 
the  Coroner  and  the  detectives.  They  cleared 
out  the  house,  holding  only  those  who  seemed 
to  them  pertinent  witnesses.  At  a  signal  from 
Rosalie  Le  Grange  they  detained  her  for  a 
time,  on  the  ground  that  she  had  arrived  suspi 
ciously  early.  The  first  unorganized  search 
for  the  criminal  simmered  down  to  Tommy 
North,  although  even  Mrs.  Moore  admitted 
that  he  had  entered  only  a  minute  before  the 
body  was  discovered.  In  the  midst  of  the  in 
vestigation,  a  new  quandary  presented  itself. 
The  house  was  to  be  sealed  while  the  police  in 
vestigated.  The  innocent  would  have  to  find 
some  other  dwelling-place.  That  suited  her, 
Miss  Harding  remarked;  she  wouldn't  sleep 
there  again ;  whereupon  Mrs.  Moore,  declaring 


24  THE  RED  BUTTON 

she  was  ruined,  fell  again  to  weeping.  And 
suddenly  she  who  called  herself  Madame  Le 
Grange  stepped  forward  into  the  huddled  dis 
tressed  group. 

"I  haven't  introduced  myself,"  she  said,  with 
easy  masterful  calm,  "but  I've  just  opened  the 
house  at  442  as  a  boarding-house.  You  ain't 
going  to  hold  me,  of  course" — this  to  the  police 
— "and,  anyhow,  you  know  where  to  find  me  in 
case  you  want  me.  There's  room  to-night  in 
my  house  for  you  all."  She  turned,  with  her 
eternal  air  of  mistress  in  any  situation,  to  Miss 
Harding.  "Come,  dress  and  pack  up  your 
night  things,  my  dear.  We  can  move  your 
trunks  to-morrow."  Mechanically,  Miss 
Harding  obeyed,  and  then  Miss  Jones.  Sud 
denly  Mr.  Estrilla,  who  had  been  ministering 
to  Mrs.  Moore  by  the  door,  spoke  up  and  asked : 

"My  seester,  too?" 

"She's  sick,  ain't  she?"  inquired  Mrs.  Le 
Grange,  as  if  for  an  instant  that  gave  her  pause. 
"Then  the  poor  thing  needs  it  worst  of  all!" 
she  answered  her  own  argument.  "Come  on!" 
She  dashed  away,  lightly  in  spite  of  her  bulk, 
Estrilla  following. 

While  Rosalie  Le  Grange  was  preparing  to 


THE  BOARDERS  25 

move  the  invalid  on  the  top  floor,  the  police  and 
the  Coroner  straightened  out  affairs  a  little. 
There  was  much  man  in  Tommy  North.  If  he 
had  played  the  craven  in  the  first  rush  of  his 
gruesome  discovery,  it  was  because  he  had  wak 
ened  to  that  state  of  tense  depression  which 
comes  with  the  sudden  departure  of  drunken 
ness.  He  became  defiant  now ;  whereupon  the 
police  began  to  bully.  While  they  were  trying 
to  make  Mrs.  Moore  admit  that  she  had  not 
seen  Tommy  North  come  up  the  stairs,  a  de 
tective  sergeant  put  a  sneering  question  to 
her — 

"Well,  who  else  could  have  done  it?  Who 
else  has  been  here?" 

And  the  inrush  of  memory  brought  a  little 
shriek  from  Mrs.  Moore. 

"Mr.  Wade — the  gentleman  who  called  to 
night!"  she  cried.  All  at  once  her  suspicions 
left  the  branded  Mr.  North.  Mr.  Wade  had 
come  late  in  the  evening — and  that,  in  the  doc 
tor's  opinion,  was  just  about  the  time  when 
Captain  Hanska  must  have  died.  Mr.  Wade 
had  called  two  or  three  times  before,  always  at 
night.  Trembling,  she  found  his  card,  "Law 
rence  Wade,  Curfew  Club,"  in  the  plated  tray 


26  THE  RED  BUTTON 

at  the  hall  door.  Suddenly  Miss  Harding,  who 
had  been  refusing  all  light  on  the  events  of  the 
evening,  gave  a  little  shriek. 

"Why,  they  were  quarreling  when  I  went — " 
she  cried.  Then  she  stopped,  as  though  fearful 
of  her  own  words.  The  police  turned  on  her. 
In  a  tumble  of  words  and  emotions,  she  told 
what  she  knew.  Mr.  Wade's  late  call,  the 
high  words,  the  fact  that  none  had  heard  a 
sound  from  Captain  Hanska's  room  after 
Wade  left  the  house — that  was  enough  for  the 
Coroner  and  the  detectives.  They  packed 
Tommy  North — sober,  pale,  but  now  thor 
oughly  collected — into  the  patrol  wagon,  sent 
the  hue  and  cry  to  the  Curfew  Club  after  Mr. 
Wade,  put  the  house  under  guard,  and  called 
their  day's  work  done. 

And  the  rest  of  the  Moore  establishment, 
having  first  received  dreadful  warning  concern 
ing  the  fate  of  absconding  witnesses,  finished 
that  uneasy  night  under  the  ministrations  of 
Rosalie  Le  Grange  at  442. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   CHIEF 

INSPECTOR  MARTIN  M'GEE,  the 
middle-aged  solid  executive  of  the  New 
York  detectives,  sat  in  his  businesslike  office 
running  over  the  reports  on  the  Hanska  mur 
der,  now  less  than  a  calendar  day  old  but  al 
ready  the  subject  of  those  innumerable  extras 
which  the  newsboys  were  shouting  under  his 
windows.  Nothing  in  the  formal  documents 
before  him  served  to  give  him  any  new  light. 
Thomas  North,  advertising  agent,  at  present 
locked  up  to  await  examination,  had  announced 
discovery  of  the  murder.  When  he  made  the 
announcement,  he  was  spotted  and  daubed  with 
blood.  Captain  Hanska  had  then  been  dead 
at  least  an  hour.  For  the  period  in  which  Han 
ska  must  have,  died,  North  proved  a  perfect 
alibi — unless  the  landlady,  or  North's  compan 
ions  at  the  annual  smoker  of  the  Carekillers, 
had  lied  to  the  detectives.  Lawrence  Wade — 

27 


28  THE  RED  BUTTON 

that  looked  like  the  man.  Wade  was  missing 
from  the  Curfew  Club  when  the  police  arrived ; 
however,  through  the  good  memories  of  a  taxi- 
cab  driver  and  a  ticket  seller,  he  had  been 
traced  to  Boston  and  there  arrested  in  the  very 
act  of  engaging  European  passage. 

Wade  had  visited  Hanska  at  about  the  time 
of  the  murder — "as  shown  by  the  condition  of 
the  body."  Wade  admitted  that  fact.  "I 
was  there  on  business  for  a  friend,"  he  said. 
Pressed  to  explain  why  he  had  made  such  a 
sudden  trip  out  of  town,  he  declined  to  answer. 
He  knew  his  legal  rights — he  was  a  lawyer  it 
appeared — and  he  would  give  no  further  ex 
planation.  Lawrence  Wade  it  must  be — un 
less  this  proved  an  "inside  job."  The  windows 
of  Captain  Hanska's  room  were  both  fastened 
when  North  discovered  the  murder,  but  his 
outer  door,  leading  into  the  hall,  was  unlocked. 
There  were  no  signs  of  any  entrance  by  the 
front  door  or  the  basement  door.  By  night, 
Wade  and  North  must  go  on  the  carpet  for  a 
little  touch  of  the  Third  Degree.  Inspector 
McGee  was  a  firm  believer  in  that  same  Third 
Degree.  Lecoq  tactics  lie  distrusted,  with  the 


THE  CHIEF  29 

distrust  of  a  narrow  man  for  the  other  man's 
weapons. 

But  the  formal  documents  in  the  Hanska 
case  interested  Inspector  McGee  less,  a  great 
deal  less,  than  an  informal  verbal  report  made 
that  morning  by  the  sergeant  in  command  of 
the  reserves. 

"We  didn't  know  nothing  about  her,  Chief," 
he  said,  "except  that  she  had  an  order  from  you 
telling  us  to  keep  our  hooks  off  her.  Forgot 
the  name — something  French  with  a  L —  e  be 
hind  it.  It  was  all  right,  wasn't  it  ?" 

Inspector  McGee  understood  at  once;  and 
the  information  brought  a  little  thrill.  He  had 
given  only  two  such  papers  in  his  career;  and 
the  other  was  held  by  a  man.  So  Rosalie  Le 
Grange  had  bobbed  up  again — Rosalie  Le 
Grange,  trance,  test  and  clairvoyant  medium, 
follower  of  a  small  half-criminal  trade  but 
friend  of  society  against  larger  criminals. 
How  curiously  that  woman  had  glanced  in  and 
out  of  his  life,  and  what  luck  she  had  brought ! 
His  first  success,  for  example — the  solution  of 
the  Heywood  murder,  which  had  raised  him 
from  plain  detective  to  detective  sergeant. 


30  THE  RED  BUTTON 

None  but  him  and  her  knew  how  Rosalie  Le 
Grange  had  cleared  up  that  important  case  by 
her  knowledge  and  shrewdness,  and  had  slipped 
out  of  it  in  the  dramatic  moment,  leaving  to 
him  the  credit.  Then  the  Martin  case,  which 
had  helped  make  him  a  captain — the  McGre 
gor  diamond  case — half  a  dozen  smaller  cases, 
all  successes  and  all  redounding  greatly  to 
his  reputation.  For  three  years  now  she  had 
been  completely  out  of  his  world.  Once  a 
vague  rumor  that  she  was  very  prosperous  had 
set  him  wondering  with  a  little  regret  whether 
she  had  fallen  to  tricking  big  dupes.  In  old 
years,  she  always  affected  to  despise  that  proc 
ess. 

Here  she  was  again,  mysterious  and  dramat 
ic,  still,  at  the  very  focus  of  another  big  case. 
The  heavy  lips  of  Martin  McGee  relaxed  in  a 
smile  of  unaccustomed  sweetness  as  he  thought 
on  her,  and  less  on  her  talents  and  her  benefi 
cent  influence  over  his  career  than  on  her  look 
and  move  and  joy  in  life.  He  recalled  her  as 
she  stepped  into  his  career  ten  years  ago — 
plump  but  shapely;  dimpled,  brown-haired, 
marvelous  in  the  compelling  expression  of  her 
gray  eyes.  He  recalled  the  Rosalie  of  three 


THE  CHIEF  31 

years  ago — still  shapely  but  now  touched  with 
age  and  powdered  with  gray.  From  among 
the  half -forgotten  memories  of  a  busy  and 
rather  brutal  life,  she  stirred  into  full  vision. 
Inspector  McGee  was  forty-eight  years  old; 
and  that  period  is  the  Indian  summer  of 
romance.  He  found  himself  looking  forward 
to  their  next  meeting. 

And  as  he  bent  over  his  desk  in  unaccustomed 
meditation,  the  hour  of  that  meeting  was  come. 
The  doorman  brought  a  card — "Mme.  Rosalie 
Le  Grange" — and  behind  him  she  appeared. 

Any  woman  who  had  known  the  Rosalie  Le 
Grange  of  Inspector  McGee's  recollections 
would  have  read  new  prosperity  into  her  at  first 
glance.  Then,  her  shirt-waists,  always  immac 
ulately  neat,  were  of  cheap  lawn;  now,  her 
modest  waist  was  chiffon  and  Cluny  hung  over 
a  figured  silk.  Her  suit  had  that  perfect  tail 
ored  simplicity  which  only  genius  achieves. 
Her  hat  was  unobtrusive,  but  any  discrimina 
ting  feminine  eye  would  have  seen  that  Verre 
made  it;  and  Verre  comes  high.  These  signs 
of  wealth  escaped  Martin  McGee.  The  proof 
to  him  was  more  tangible — the  diamond  pen 
dant  at  her  throat,  the  rings  on  her  fingers. 


32  THE  RED  BUTTON 

He  noted  these  little  brothers  of  prosperity 
before  he  perceived  how  much  younger  she  ap 
peared  in  face  and  figure  than  when  he  saw  her 
last.  Being  mere  male  man,  he  could  not  un 
derstand  that  this  false  youth  was  born  and 
bred  of  the  modiste,  the  milliner  and  the  mas 
seuse. 

"Well,  well!"  exclaimed  Martin  McGee,  ris 
ing  as  though  to  some  great  personage,  "back 
again!  Say,  you  just  couldn't  keep  out  of  big 
doings,  could  you?  And  how  pretty  you  look 
— prettier  and  prettier  all  the  time!  What 
hauled  you  into  the  Hanska  case?" 

"I  ain't  in  the  Hanska  case  at  all,"  responded 
Rosalie  Le  Grange,  answering  his  second  ques 
tion  first,  "at  least  not  deep,  Martin  McGee." 
She  flashed  upon  him  her  dimples,  snapped  at 
him  her  great  gray  eyes.  "When  a  person  is 
comin'  home  late  from  a  supper  with  an  actress 
friend  an'  sees  a  door  open  and  hears  people 
talking  on  the  inside  with  remarks  about  mur 
der  and  police,  she  investigates.  Which  I 
done.  An'  when  she  finds  a  lot  of  human  hens 
runnin'  around  like  their  heads  was  cut  off,  she 
helps  straighten  things  out.  I  was  never  right 
up  close  to  a  murder  before."  She  paused  a 


THE  CHIEF  33 

minute,  her  dimples  faded  and  the  lines  of  her 
face  feU.  "Ugh!"  she  shuddered  with  the 
memory. 

"That,"  said  Martin  McGee,  "is  what  I'd 
call  a  coincidence." 

"Coincidence!"  repeated  Rosalie  Le  Grange 
with  fine  scorn,  "now  you  look  here,  Inspector 
McGee,  there  ain't  any  such  thing  as  coinci 
dences — any  more  than  there's  such  a  thing  as 
luck.  No,  Martin  McGee.  Nearly  every 
body  that's  lived  long  enough  in  New  York 
has  had  a  murder  or  a  burglary  or  something  in 
the  same  block.  It  was  bound  to  happen  to  me 
in  time.  It  happened ;  and  instead  of  minding 
my  own  business  like  the  rest,  I  butted  straight 
in.  When  the  reasons  for  a  thing  get  too 
tangled-up  for  you  and  me  to  follow,  we  stick 
a  label  on  it  an'  call  it  luck.  But  there,"  she 
checked  herself,  "this  is  just  one  of  my  plat 
form  inspirational  talks  like  I  used  to  give  the 
sitters  in  my  test  seances.  Only  then  I  laid  it 
to  the  spirits.  Now  I  lay  it  to  Rosalie  Le 
Grange." 

"Used  to?"  echoed  Inspector  McGee. 
"Does  that  mean  you've  cut  it  out?" 

"Well,  do  these  clothes  and  this  five-dollar- 


34  THE  RED  BUTTON 

an-hour  massage  on  my  poor  old  face  look  like 
I  got  'em  from  sitters  at  two  dollars  a  throw?" 
inquired  Rosalie  Le  Grange.  "Say,  ask  me 
about  it,  please.  I'm  dying  to  tell." 

"All  right;  I've  asked,"  responded  Martin 
McGee,  a  kind  of  dull  fire  illuminating  his 
clean-shaven  jowly  police  countenance. 

"Now,"  said  Rosalie  Le  Grange,  "I'm  going 
to  astonish  you,  Marty  McGee.  I  got  it  from 
Robert  H.  Norcross — the  railroad  king." 

McGee's  face  fell.  This  mascot  of  his,  this 
curious  good  fairy  who  had  skipped  in  and  out 
of  his  career,  scattering  golden  successes,  was  a 
kind  of  an  ideal.  That  she  should  "work"  a 
doddering  millionaire — as  Norcross  had  been  in 
his  last  years — for  the  tainted  coin  of  aged 
folly,  was  a  blow  to  what  idealism  an  Inspec 
tor  of  detectives  may  hope  still  to  cherish. 
Rosalie,  skilled  from  youth  to  catch  and  inter 
pret  the  unconsidered  expression  of  the  human 
countenance,  read  his  emotion  at  once. 

"Now,  I  don't  mean  at  all  what  you  mean, 
Martin  McGee,"  she  said.  "Listen.  It  don't 
matter  what  I  did,  or  how  I  did  it — but  I  saved 
this  Robert  H.  Norcross  from  makin'  about 
the  biggest  kind  of  a  fool  out  of  himself. 


THE  CHIEF  35 

There's  more  things  get  by  the  police  than  get 
to  'em,  Inspector  Martin  McGee.  Especially 
in  the  medium  game.  Norcross  was  caught., 
I  tell  you.  Ever  hear  of  Mrs.  Paula  Mark- 
ham?" 

"The  woman  who  skipped  to  Paris  after  the 
Warfield  affair?"  asked  McGee.  Rosalie 
nodded. 

"And  a  great  medium,  too,"  she  said,  "but 
also  a  great  crook.  Well  she  had  Robert  Nor 
cross,  I  tell  you."  Rosalie  extended  one  of  her 
creamed-and-polished  hands.  She  closed  the 
fingers  gradually,  into  one  pink,  adorable,  tight 
fist.  "Just  like  that,"  she  said.  "He  was  the 
right  age  to  be  worked  by  a  medium.  And 
think  of  the  stake !  The  newspapers  said  when 
he  died  that  his  estate  was  smaller  than  any 
body  thought.  But  it  was  seventy-five  mil 
lions.  Mrs.  Markham  had  him — and  them. 
An'  I  broke  that  grip.  It  ain't  necessary  for 
me  to  say  how.  Funny  thing  was  I  didn't  do 
it  for  Norcross  at  all,  but  just  for  a  little  blue- 
eyed  fool  of  a  girl  in  love.  Well,  anyhow, 
when  he  woke  up  and  realized  the  narrow  shave 
he  had,  Mr.  Norcross  began  to  investigate,  an' 
found  what  I'd  done.  Do  you  remember,"  she 


36  THE  RED  BUTTON 

asked  suddenly,  "that  they  probated  the  Nor- 
cross  will  secret?  Nobody  ever  knew  exactly 
what  he  did  with  his  money,  except  his  nephew 
got  most  of  it." 

"I  remember,"  said  Inspector  McGee.  And 
then,  on  a  sudden  burst  of  laughter,  "Gee! 
Wouldn't  the  newspapers  give  a  heap  to  get 
this  story  you're  going  to  tell !" 

"They  would,"  responded  Rosalie  Le 
Grange,  "and  that's  why  you'll  never  breathe  a 
word  to  a  soul.  But  there!  I  always  knew 
who  I  could  trust — an'  you're  one  of  'em.  The 
reason  was  a  codicil  or  whatever  you  call  it. 
He  left  me — 'in  token  of  service  and  friend 
ship,'  it  said — an  old  house  he  owned  over  by 
North  River,  an'  stocks — well  six  thousand  a 
year  to  make  one  bite  of  it!" 

"Good  lord!  He  did?"  cried  Martin  Mc 
Gee. 

Rosalie  nodded  solemnly,  but  her  eyes  shone. 

"Now  I  played  that  medium  game  on  the 
square,  you  understand,"  she  said,  "again  and 
again.  I  passed  up  chances  to  hook  just  such 
old  dopes  as  Norcross.  My  rule  was  alwajTs 
straight  sittings  at  two  dollars  a  head,  an'  no 
extras.  I  faked  'em,  of  course.  But  I  heart- 


THE  CHIEF  37 

ened  'em  up.  I  handed  'em  good  advice.  I 
kept  silly  fool  girls  from  goin'  to  the  bad.  I 
gave  weepy  old  widows  the  only  real  recrea 
tion  they  ever  had.  An'  here,  right  at  the  end, 
comes  an  honest  piece  of  money  so  big  that  I 
could  have  played  crooked  all  my  life,  an'  never 
even  got  a  chance  at  anythin'  like  it.  Makes 
me  wonder,"  she  added,  "if  the  goody-goody 
stuff  I  used  to  line  out  in  my  inspirational  plat 
form  talks  wasn't  true,  after  all." 

"And  never  a  noise  from  the  lawyers?"  in 
quired  Martin  McGee.  "Didn't  they  squeal?" 

"Like  stuck  pigs!"  replied  Rosalie,  "but  they 
didn't  bother  me.  I  was  my  own  lawyer.  'All 
right,'  says  I,  'sue  and  get  it  into  the  papers 
that  Robert  H.  Norcross  was  runnin'  to  medi 
ums.  Do  a  lot  for  your  railroad  system. 
Look  nice  in  red  head-lines.'  That  fixed  'em. 
An'  last  March  / 1  come  into  my  money.  I 
closed  up  shop  an'  sold  my  test  books  an* 
stopped  this  medium  business,  an'  started  to  be 
a  lady.  Six  thousand  a  year  ain't  too  much  to 
do  that  job  in  New  York,  even  when  you  don't 
have  to  pay  house  rent. 

"There  was  six  months'  income  waiting  for 
me  when  the  lawyers  settled  everything  up,  an' 


38  THE  RED  BUTTON 

I  put  that  into  things  that  I  wanted  all  my 
life.  I  bought  some  stuff  that  I  needed  too, 
but  I  bought  the  things  that  I  wanted  first — 
a  Duchess-lace  handkerchief  that  put  me  back 
fifty  dollars,  a  gold  chair,  an'  some  diamond 
rings  an'  a  gold-mesh  bag — but  I  guess  this  is 
neither  here  nor  there.  I  spread  myself  on 
clothes,  had  my  face  overhauled  and  renovated 
until  I  hardly  knew  it  myself,  and  then  I  fixed 
up  the  house.  And  that  house — you  can  be 
lieve  me — is  some  house — it's  got  chintz  bed 
rooms,  an'  a  conservatory  an'  a  smoking  den  an' 
a  cozy  corner  an'  a  sun  parlor. 

"After  that  I  started  out  to  be  a  lady.  I 
went  to  the  opera  an'  the  theater  an'  tea  at 
the  Deidrich.  I  hired  a  landau  from  a  livery- 
stable,  an'  every  day  I  drove  up  Fifth  Avenue. 
The  rest  of  the  time,  I  shopped.  An',  Inspec 
tor  Martin  McGee,  believe  me,  I  begun  to  feel 
wrong,  somehow." 

Rosalie  stopped  for  breath  and  Inspector 
McGee  jerked  out  a  quick  laugh  of  anticipa 
tion. 

"It  wasn't  till  last  week  that  I  looked  myself 
over  an'  found  I  wasn't  happy.  To  make  no 
bones  of  it,  bein'  a  real  lady — which  I'd  wanted 


THE  CHIEF  39 

to  be  all  my  life — jest  bored  me  to  death.  It 
wasn't  as  though  I'd  had  somebody  to  do  it 
with.  That  was  the  trouble,  I  guess.  I  never 
did  associate  with  mediums  much — I  always 
was  on  to  them.  Two  or  three  of  'em  crawled 
around  an'  tried  to  graft  on  me.  I  fixed  'em. 
They  don't  know  nothing  on  me  except  I  used 
to  be  in  the  business,  but  I  know  everything  on 
them.  With  other  rich  people,  like  me,  I 
wasn't  makin'  no  headway  at  all.  That 
wasn't  the  whole  of  it,  either.  Here  I'd  been 
twenty  years  takin'  care  of  other  people's  trou 
bles,  getting  fun  out  of  jest  listening  to  'em, 
an'  excitement  out  of  wondering  what  they'd 
do  next.  An'  I  missed  it." 

"I  bet  you  did,"  said  Martin  McGee  admir 
ingly. 

"Well,  last  week  I  set  down  and  had  a  good 
long  dispute  with  myself.  'You  can't  go  back 
to  the  business,'  says  I.  'Rosalie  Le  Grange, 
you've  got  jest  what  you've  always  wanted,  an' 
yet  you  ain't  happy.  What  you  need  is  a 
compromise/  said  I.  An'  next  morning-  it 
come  to  me.  Maybe  the  spirits  sent  it.  You 
can  laugh,  Inspector  McGee,  but  there's  some 
thing  in  this  spirit  thing.  I  used  to  think  there 


40  THE  RED  BUTTON 

was,  an'  then  again  I'd  think  there  wasn't — 
even  in  my  own  clairvoyance.  But  the  more 
you  know  about  this  clairvoyant  thing  the  more 
you  don't  know,  an'  that  stands  whether  you're 
a  psychic  researcher  or  a  clairvoyant  yourself. 

"Well,  anyhow,  it  came  to  me  like  a  flash — 
boarders!  I  could  run  my  house  just  the  way 
I  wanted,  because  I  needn't  look  out  for  profits. 
An'  I  could  take  jest  who  I  wanted  and  shut 
out  whoever  I  didn't  want.  The  thought 
chirked  me  a  lot.  Thinks  I :  'I've  got  a  smok 
ing-room  and  a  cozy  corner  an'  a  sun  parlor, 
and  they  ain't  many  folks  that  board  get  them 
comforts.'  So  I  fixed  all  the  bedrooms  up  sen 
sible  with  good  white  and  gold  beds  and  adult- 
size  towels  an'  gave  them  all  little  fixy  touches 
that  made  them  homelike." 

Again  Madame  Le  Grange  ran  down.  She 
panted  softly  a  moment. 

Inspector  McGee  dropped  a  heavy  fist  on  his 
mahogany  desk.  "It  would  take  you  to  look 
upon  a  boarding-house  as  fun!"  he  chuckled. 

"An'  I  was  jest  ready  to  begin  to  look  around 
an'  advertise  when — this  happened.  The  idea 
struck  me  as  soon  as  I  saw  the  state  of  the 
people  in  that  house.  The  police  would  put  it 


THE  CHIEF  41 

under  guard,  an'  the  boarders  would  be  out  of 
a  home.  So  I  moved  'em  over  bodily,  all  but 
the  one  you  pinched — the  sick  little  dago 
woman  from  up-stairs,  an'  the  two  girls,  and 
that  funny  old  Professor  Noll.  An'  I'm  even 
putting  up  with  the  landlady — if  it  was  other 
people's  troubles  I  was  lookin'  for,  I  got  'em 
all  right!" 

"Gee!"  ejaculated  Martin  McGee.  "I  can 
use  you — " 

"Yes,  you  can,"  interrupted  Rosalie,  "but 
you  won't.  I  know  what  you  want.  You 
want  me  to  go  to  work  an'  help  cinch  this  case. 
Well,  I  won't.  I'm  out  of  that  business,  too. 
What  I'm  here  for,  Martin  McGee — beyond 
the  pleasure  I  always  took  in  your  society" — 
here  Rosalie  let  her  dimples  play  and  flash — 
"is  to  tell  all  I  know  or  saw,  so's  you  won't  be 
callin'  me  at  the  inquest  an'  gettin'  me  a  fea 
ture  in  the  papers." 

"How  about  this  man  North?"  asked  the  In 
spector. 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  I  like  him,"  said 
Rosalie;  "I  like  that  boy." 

"You're  no  different  from  every  other  lady 
that's  looked  into  that  terrier  face  of  his,"  re- 


42  THE  RED  BUTTON 

sponded  Martin  McGee,  smiling  heavily. 
"I've  been  having  his  record  trailed  all  day. 
Seems  he  knows  everybody,  except  the  swells, 
on  his  beat, — the  two  cops,  the  paper-boy,  the 
bartenders — he's  strong  there — the  bootblacks, 
the  wops  on  the  fruit  stand,  the  kike  tailor, 
the  cabmen,  the  expressmen  and  the  postman, 
even  the  chink  laundrymen.  He  was  best  man 
last  week  at  the  postman's  wedding,  and  they 
do  say — every  one  who  knows  him  sticks  to  just 
one  thing — whoever  done  it,  'twasn't  Tommy 
North.  That  may  seem  in  his  favor,  but 
there's  two  things  against  him;  one" — Martin 
McGee  lifted  a  heavy  purple  finger — "he  does 
most  of  his  sleeping  between  the  hours  of  half 
past  two  and  half  past  seven  in  the  morning; 
and  two" — another  purple  finger  popped  up 
to  join  the  first — "he  spends  most  of  his  extra 
money  at  pool  parlors,  Austrian  villages  and 
cabaret  shows,  where  he  has  some  reputation 
as  a  turkey  trotter.  For  a  boy  that  just  come 
down  from  the  country  three  years  ago,  I  must 
say  he's  been  going  some,  and  the  only  wonder 
to  me  is  that  Tammany  ain't  got  hold  of  him 
long  ago.  Do  you  think  he  had  anything  to 
do  with  it?" 


THE  CHIEF  43 

"I  ain't  committin'  myself  as  to  who  done 
it — did  it — I  don't  have  to  think  about  that 
anymore  now  I've  stopped  bein'  a  lady,"  said 
Rosalie,  sweeping  into  digression.  "You'll 
never  know  the  fight  I  had  with  this  grammar 
thing  after  talkin'  for  forty  years  jest  like  I 
wanted  to.  Thank  the  lord,  that's  over. 
Well,  anyhow,  I  ain't  committin'  myself. 
Looks  like  an  alibi  for  Mr.  North  when  the 
landlady  says  he  come  up  the  stairs  only  a 
minute  before  he  hollered,  an'  the  doctor  says 
that  this  Hanska  had  been  dead  two  or  three 
hours.  Appeared  to  me  like  he  was  jest 
jarred  out  of  a  drunk,  too.  How  about  this 
Lawrence  Wade  or  whatever  his  name  was 
— the  man  who  called  with  the  bag?  Got 
him?" 

"He  was  arrested  this  morning  in  Boston." 

"Skippin'?  Looks  bad.  Has  it  occurred 
to  you  to  investigate  that  young  man's  athletic 
record?" 

Inspector  McGee  jumped  and  turned  on 
her.  Rosalie  was  always  letting  slip  some  of 
these  extraordinary  bits  of  knowledge. 

"How  did  you  know,"  inquired  Inspector 
McGee,  "that  he  was  an  athlete?" 


44  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Rosalie  looked  very  grave.  But  she  an 
swered  his  question  by  another. 

"He  wasn't  a  fencer?" 

For  answer,  McGee  picked  up  a  red-bound 
college  annual  from  his  desk. 

"We've  been  following  him  up,  you  see." 
And  in  the  tabulated  records  he  pointed  out 
one  line,  "President  fencing  club,  1898-99." 

"Looks  bad,"  commented  Rosalie. 

"Why?" 

"How  would  you  stab  a  man  if  you  were 
stabbing  in  a  hurry?"  asked  Rosalie.  "Try. 
Here's  a  penholder.  The  point  of  the  pen  is 
the  point  of  the  knife.  Now!" 

Inspector  McGee  grasped  the  penholder  so 
that  the  point  protruded  from  under  his  little 
finger.  So  holding  it,  he  made  a  downward 
sweep  through  the  air. 

"Of  course,  that's  how  I'd  go  at  it,"  said 
McGee,  "but  a  regular  knife  man — " 

"Exactly,"  interrupted  Rosalie.  "And 
your  knife  would  go  in  from  above,  now 
wouldn't  it?  The  wound  would  point  down. 
Now  try  it  this  way — "  Rosalie  arranged  the 
weapon  which  is  mightier  than  the  sword  in 
such  manner  that  the  point  extended  from  un- 


THE  CHIEF  45 

der  her  forefinger.  "Or  this" — now  she  held 
the  fencer's  grip,  the  shaft,  lying  obliquely 
along  the  palm,  controlled  and  guided  by  the 
sensitive  finger-points.  "Now.  He  was 
stabbed  in  the  heart,  but  from  beneath.  The 
wound  pointed  upward.  With  your  grip,  you 
couldn't  stab  a  standing  man  upward,  not  if 
he  let  you.  With  my  grip,  I  couldn't  stab 
downward  to  save  my  life." 

Martin  McGee  went  into  heavy  thought 
while  he  struggled  for  objections. 

"Suppose  he  was  lying  down?"  he  asked,  at 
last. 

"On  the  floor?  Beggin'  to  be  stabbed?" 
jabbed  Rosalie. 

"Maybe  he  was  stabbed  in  bed  and  got  out 
and  died  on  the  floor." 

"An'  never  made  any  disturbance  or  left  any 
blood  behind?  Besides,  the  bed  wasn't  mussed 
at  all.  It  was  just  thrown  back  as  though  he'd 
got  up  quiet  and  natural." 

"You  saw  all  that — in  two  minutes!"  ex 
claimed  McGee.  "I  never  could  understand 
how  you  did  it." 

"If  you'd  spent  your  whole  life,"  replied  Ro 
salie,  "sizin'  up  sitters  with  past,  present  an' 


46  THE  RED  BUTTON 

future  in  the  two  minutes  that  you  was  fakin' 
trance,  you'd  see  things  in  a  hurry,  too!" 

"Well,  how  on  earth  did  you  know  that  about 
fencers?" 

"Easy  as  lyin'  an'  simple  as  women,"  re 
plied  Rosalie.  "I  used  to  room  with  a  little 
actress  that  fenced — the  one  I  was  havin'  sup 
per  with  last  night.  But  now,  Inspector,  just 
to  close  things  up,  I'm  out  of  this  case.  I've 
given  you  all  I  know.  Your  police  will  be 
botherin'  my  boarders  a  lot  with  questions ;  an' 
so  will  the  reporters.  Just  trust  me  to  steer 
that.  You  keep  me  out." 

Martin  McGee  sighed. 

"All  right,  Rosalie;  but  I'd  like  your  help. 
Still,  I  owe  you  lots  of  good  turns,  and  the 
case  don't  look  as  mysterious,  after  all.  I 
guess  it's  that  fellow  Wade." 

"Don't  get  too  sudden  with  your  guesses," 
replied  Rosalie.  "How  does  your  dope  go, 
anyway?  Have  you  looked  up  everybody  that 
slept  in  the  house  last  night  ?  I'd  like  to  know 
pretty  well  if  I'm  cherishin'  a  murderer  in  my 
midst." 

"They're  being  looked  up,"  replied  McGee. 
"I've  taken  personal  charge  of  this,  but  the 


THE  CHIEF  47 

Captain  commanding  the  precinct  detectives 
is  helping  with  the  leg-work.  The  house 
wasn't  entered.  Wade,  or  maybe  North,  did 
this — unless  it  was  an  inside  job.  There's  the 
landlady — well,  it  might  have  been  her  as  well 
as  anybody,  of  course — except  she's  a  kind  of 
an  old  fool.  She  just  don't  look  likely — " 

Rosalie  nodded. 

"You  can  count  her  out." 

"That  Professor  Noll  is  a  harmless  old 
crank.  Still  they're  the  people  that  do  such 
things  sometimes.  Now  you've  brought  up 
that  point  about  fencers — he  was  educated  in 
a  German  university.  Heid — well,  whatever 
you  call  it.  They  practise  some  kind  of  Dutch 
sword  game  over  there,  don't  they?  There 
wasn't  any  servant  in  the  house.  Mrs.  Moore's 
maids  and  furnace  man  were  niggers,  and  nig 
gers  sometimes  use  knives.  The  furnace  man 
is  named  Tremont  Taylor.  He  gambles ;  and 
when  a  coon  gambles  he's  likely  to  do  worse. 
That  gets  us  down  to  the  women.  Miss  Es- 
trilla  is  up  here  from  Caracas,  which  is  in 
Venezuela,  for  her  eyes.  Her  brother's  here 
with  her.  He's  the  agent  in  New  York  for 
an  independent  asphalt  company  of  Caracas. 


48  THE  RED  BUTTON 

He  lives  in  some  apartment-hotel  over  on 
Thirty-seventh  Street — I've  forgotten  the 
name.  He  called  last  night,  but  he  was  out 
of  the  house  before  this  Wade  came — before 
they  heard  Wade  and  Hanska  quarreling — 
and  he  didn't  come  in  again  until  they'd  dis 
covered  the  body.  He  was  in  his  rooms  all 
that  time,  too — we've  talked  to  the  elevator 
man  in  his  apartment-hotel.  Getting  back  to 
the  women ;  except  Mrs.  Moore,  who's  big  and 
husky,  there's  not  one  of  'em  has  the  strength 
to  hit  a  blow  like  that — and  women  don't  use 
knives,  anyhow.  Miss  Estrilla's  weak  as  a  cat. 
Those  two  stenographers" — he  referred  to  his 
notes — "Miss  Harding  and  Miss  Jones,  are 
just  little  city  girls,  with  no  great  muscle. 
Besides,  where's  the  motive?  I  can't  get  a 
line  yet  on  Hanska — the  body  hasn't  been 
claimed.  He's  boarded  there  three  weeks. 
Nobody  liked  him  much,  but  I  can't  find  that 
any  of  the  other  boarders  knew  him  well  enough 
to  hate  him.  I  forgot  to  say  we've  looked  over 
everybody  and  everything  for  blood,  and  can't 
find  a  drop — " 

"You  don't  have  to  tell  me  that,"  responded 
Rosalie  with  some  asperity,  "a  set  of  your  bull- 


THE  CHIEF  49 

headed  detectives  has  been  ransackin'  the  suit 
cases  in  my  house  all  mornin'.  Nearly  scared 
the  life  out  of  Miss  Harding,  by  tryin'  to  prove 
to  her  that  the  fruit  stains  on  her  shirt-waist 
were  blood." 

"Well,  I  guess  they  were  fruit  stains,  all 
right,"  replied  McGee.  "Can't  find  any  blood 
on  Wade's  things,  either." 

"Which  is  natural.  A  wound  like  that  don't 
begin  to  bleed  right  off.  No  necessity  for 
gettin'  bloody  if  the  murderer  only  kept  his 
head,  which  generally  they  don't.  Of  course, 
you've  tried  to  find  where  the  knife  came 
from?" 

McGee  smiled  on  her. 

"Have  I-  caught  you  asleep  at  last?"  he 
asked. 

"Nope,"  replied  Rosalie  promptly  and 
cheerfully,  "since  you  put  it  that  way.  I  saw 
the  pile  of  junk  on  the  table — an'  there  was 
another  knife  in  it.  What  do  you  find  about 
that  stuff?" 

"Nothing  yet.  But  I  bet  I'll  find  more 
when  I  put  Lawrence  Wade  through  the 
Third  Degree.  I  guess  it's  Wade." 

"I     guess     probably,"     admitted     Rosalie. 


50  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Most  mysteries  ain't  mysteries  at  all  after  the 
first  day.  Well,  now,  I'm  botherin'  a  busy 
man  in  office  hours  an'  I  must  run  along.  Let's 
see — five  minutes  to  four,  an'  it's  bad  luck  to 
go  before  the  hour.  Suppose  you  tell  me  about 
yourself  an'  how  the  world's  usin'  you?" 

Inspector  McGee  sat  back  in  his  office  chair 
and  waxed  eloquent.  However,  his  narrative 
of  pulls  and  promotions  and  Tammany  in 
fluence  was  never  finished.  For  before  the 
hour  struck,  the  silent  attentive  doorman  en 
tered  and  laid  on  his  desk  a  card.  Inspector 
McGee  took  it  up,  glanced  at  it  perfunctorily, 
and  suddenly  let  out  an  exclamation  which 
had  all  the  power  and  verve  of  an  oath. 

"By  the  great  cats!"  he  exclaimed,  "look  at 
that— 'Mrs.  John  H.  Hanska.'  " 

Rosalie  took  the  card  and  fingered  it. 

"The  widow,  I  bet." 

"Thought  he  was  single,"  remarked  the  In 
spector.  "Though,  after  all,  I'd  just  been 
taking  it  for  granted." 

"Well,"  said  Rosalie,  rising,  "that's  come- 
again-soon  for  me." 

But  the  Inspector  was  observing  her  with 
eyes  which  held  quizzical  invitation. 


THE  CHIEF  51 

"Honest  now,"  he  said,  "wouldn't  you  like 
to  sit  in  on  this  interview?" 

Rosalie  flashed  her  dimples  and  contem 
plated  him  for  a  second.  Then,  with  the  un 
expected  lightness  which  marked  all  her  move 
ments,  she  sat  down. 

"See  here,  Martin  MeGee,"  she  said,  "y°u 
ain't  goin'  to  make  a  fool  of  me,  draggin*  me 
into  this  case — but  I'm  dying  to  listen  just  the 
same." 

"Show  them  in,"  said  the  Inspector  on  the 
instant,  and  as  though  fearing  that  she  would 
pull  back  her  permission. 

"But  not  unless  she's  willing,"  said  Rosalie, 
as  they  waited. 

And  then  through  the  door  came  two  women. 

"Good  lordl"  commented  Rosalie  under  her 
breath. 


CHAPTER  III 

MRS.  HANSKA'S  STORY 

THE  first  was  tall  and  big.  But  her 
height  was  mainly  the  superb  carriage  of 
her  shoulders,  her  size  but  the  ripe  roundness 
of  a  goddess  figure.  She  was  dark;  she  was 
young;  she  was  beautiful.  At  that  moment, 
her  face  hinted  tragedy  in  every  line  and  color ; 
but  at  any  moment  she  must  have  been  seri 
ous.  It  could  smile  only  in  flashes,  that  face 
— with  its  broad  serene  brow  which  held  its 
own  only  by  force  against  floods  of  dark  hair, 
with  its  regular  line  of  profile,  with  its  large 
rippled  mouth  parting  slowly  even  on  her 
speech.  But  mainly  it  was  the  eyes  which  gave 
gravity  to  her  beauty.  They  were  clear  and 
big;  they  had  the  rare  lift  at  the  inner  curve 
which  lends  an  appearance  of  frankness  and 
ingenuousness.  Beyond  their  beauty,  how 
ever,  they  had  an  arresting  quality  so  strong, 
when  she  regarded  you  full-face,  as  to  be  poig- 

52 


MRS.  HANSKA'S  STORY         53 

nant.  It  all  lay  in  her  expression  of  inno 
cence  triumphant  over  experience,  of  sincerity 
triumphant  over  many  lies.  Rosalie  Le 
Grange,  connoisseur  of  her  sex,  sat  regarding 
her  spellbound. 

The  second  woman — in  fact  she  was  little 
more  than  a  girl — had  everything  which  the 
other  had  not;  she  seemed  but  the  illuminated 
shadow  of  her  who  called  herself  Mrs.  Han- 
ska.  She  was  slender,  blonde  and  fragile — 
her  quality  was  elfin.  Rosalie  could  spare  her 
but  a  glance. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Hanska,  widow  of  the  man  who 
was  killed  last  night,"  said  the  taller  woman; 
and  she  hesitated. 

It  was  not  the  custom  of  Inspector  Martin 
McGee  to  rise  when  women  entered  his  office 
in  the  role  of  the  accused  or  of  witnesses.  A 
little  brutality  of  attitude,  he  felt,  put  them  in 
a  meek  and  humble  mood  for  the  subsequent 
Third  Degree  proceedings.  But  this  woman 
— or  was  it  the  respected  presence  of  Rosalie 
Le  Grange? — drew  him  to  his  feet. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  he  said. 

* 'Thank  you.  May  I  introduce  Miss  Eliza 
beth  Lane?  She  is  here  to  verify  what  I  have 


54  THE  RED  BUTTON 

to  say."  All  this  with  perfect  simplicity. 
Her  eyes  traveled  then,  with  a  quick  glance 
of  inquiry,  to  Rosalie  Le  Grange. 

"This,"  said  the  Inspector,  taking  his  cue  at 
a  quick  prod  from  Rosalie's  foot,  "is  Mrs.  Le 
Grange.  She  is  the  lady  who  came  into  the 
house  right  after  the — accident — and  took  the 
boarders  over  to  her  place  for  the  night.  She's 
kept  them  there  ever  since.  She  was  just  tell 
ing  me  what  she  knew.  Maybe  you'd  like  to 
hear  it." 

With  her  beautiful  seriousness,  Mrs.  Hanska 
considered  Inspector  McGee's  words,  consid 
ered  the  situation,  considered  Rosalie  Le 
Grange.  Never  had  Rosalie  presented  more 
convincingly  the  appearance  of  simple,  placid, 
bourgeois  respectability.  Not  the  quiver  of 
an  eyelash,  not  the  flash  of  a  dimple — quiet- 
eyed  she  gave  Mrs.  Hanska  glance  for  glance. 

"I  should  like  very  much  to  hear  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Hanska  earnestly. 

"But  maybe  you  want  to  be  alone  just  at 
first,"  interposed  Rosalie,  making  a  pretense 
of  rising. 

"No — there  is  nothing  secret,"  replied  Mrs. 
Hanska.  "I  see  no  reason  why  you  should 


MRS.  HANSKA'S  STORY         55 

not  stay.  Indeed  you  may  be  able  to  help  us." 
She  trained  her  look  steadily  upon  Rosalie  Le 
Grange.  Rosalie,  with  all  the  gravity  of  this 
world  in  her  brows,  looked  back.  Something 
unseen  of  Martin  McGee  passed  between  them. 
Women  have  with  women  their  own  ways,  un- 
perceived,  unweighted,  unvalued,  by  you  or  me 
or  Martin  McGee  or  any  other  man  who  ever 
lived.  In  that  glance,  two  currents  of  fine 
subconscious  emotion  had  met  and  fused.  Ro 
salie  Le  Grange's  mind  had  said:  "You  mar 
vel,  you  beauty !"  And  Constance  Hanska's 
mind  had  said:  "I  trust  this  woman  who 
ever  she  is." 

Now  Martin  McGee  summoned  the  police 
stenographer  and  ordered  him  to  stay  within 
call.  Gone  from  him  was  the  heavy  humor 
of  his  half -hour  with  Rosalie.  He  was  the 
Chief — suspicious  and  brutal. 

"I  must  warn  you,"  he  said,  "that  if  you 
are  implicated  in  this  case,  anything  you  say 
will  be  used  against  you  at  the  trial."  Gen 
erally  that  sudden  statement  made  women 
tremble,  drew  from  them  a  flood  of  words  out 
of  which  McGee  picked  the  flotsam  and  the 
jetsam  of  evidence.  But  Mrs.  Hanska  did 


56  THE  RED  BUTTON 

not  give  even  the  preliminary  frightened  start. 
She  only  transferred  her  limpid  level  gaze 
from  Rosalie's  face  to  Inspector  McGee's. 

"Oh,  of  course,"  she  said  simply;  "I  know 
enough  about  law  to  understand  that." 

But  the  little  blonde  spoke  now  for  the  first 
time;  and  for  the  first  time  Rosalie  turned 
her  attention  from  the  greater  luminary  to  its 
satellite.  She  was  a  child  of  whimsy  and  the 
sun.  Her  face  ran  to  tiny  points  and  peaks, 
her  coloring  to  twinkles  of  light.  Her  blue 
eyes  were  snapping  now  as  she  exclaimed : 

"Implicated!  You'll  have  a  hard  time  do 
ing  that!"  And  she  gazed  truculently  at  In 
spector  McGee. 

"Please  don't,  Betsy-Barbara,"  said  Mrs. 
Hanska  with  no  irritation — merely  a  plain 
statement  of  her  desires;  "it's  this  gentleman's 
duty  to  warn  me,  you  know." 

("Betsy-Barbara — that's  a  cute  name — I 
bet  Mrs.  Hanska  gave  it  to  her!"  said  the  mind 
of  Rosalie  Le  Grange.) 

"It  would  be  impossible  to  implicate  me," 
pursued  Mrs.  Hanska.  "Dozens  of  people  can 
testify  that  I  was  in  Arden,  a  hundred  miles 
north,  last  night — that  I  have  not  left  Arden 


MRS.  HANSKA'S  STORY         57 

for  more  than  a  month.  Perhaps,"  she  con 
tinued,  checking  an  unformed  sentence  on  the 
lips  of  Inspector  McGee,  "I  had  better  start  at 
the  beginning  and  tell  you  all  about  it." 

She  was  talking  "fine,"  Inspector  McGee 
reflected.  Having  got  her  started,  his  best 
course  was  to  mollify  her  until  she  began  to  run 
down. 

"That's  always  best,"  he  said. 

"So  I  should  think,"  replied  Mrs.  Hanska, 
"but  will  they  use  it  all  at  the  trial?" 

"Not  necessarily,"  replied  Inspector  McGee; 
"we  must  judge  of  that."  Mrs.  Hanska 
mused  another  space. 

"And  the  newspapers — " 

"They'll  get,"  said  McGee,  "just  what  you 
tell  them — no  more." 

Mrs.  Hanska  sighed  as  though  one  great 
load,  at  least,  had  lifted  from  her  shoulders. 
And  quite  simply  she  began  her  talk. 

"I  married  Captain  Hanska  ten  years  ago 
— when  I  was  nineteen.  He  was  nearly  thir 
ty-five  then,  although  he  said  that  he  was 
younger;  and  he  had  just  come  back  from 
Alaska.  He  said  that  he  got  his  title  in  the 
Bolivian  army.  I  have  since  had  reason  to 


58  THE  RED  BUTTON 

doubt  that.  He  was  an  engineer  by  profes 
sion.  I  realize  now  how  little  mother  and  I 
knew  about  him.  But  he  was  the  kind  of  per 
son  who  carried  everything  before  him — you 
deferred  to  him  in  those  days  in  spite  of  your 
better  judgment.  And  my  mother  was  very 
trusting.  Then,  too,  Captain  Hanska  was  a 
very  charming  man.  Afterward,  he  changed 
— perhaps  I  need  not  say  anything  more — " 

During  this  statement,  Betsy-Barbara  Lane 
had  been  wriggling  and  bouncing  in  her  chair. 
"Then  I  will!"  she  burst  out  indignantly. 
"He  was  dreadful.  He  was  horrid.  He  was 
bad  and  he  always  had  been  bad.  And  he 
treated  her  shamefully.  Everybody  knows 
that!" 

Martin  McGee,  reflecting  that  he  was  mak 
ing  great  progress  toward  establishing  a  mo 
tive,  forebore  to  check  Betsy-Barbara.  But 
Mrs.  Hanska  interposed  a  firm,  "My  dear,  you 
must  not  interrupt!"  Then  she  took  up  the 
thread  with  her  extraordinary  composure. 

"Miss  Lane  is  a  little  inaccurate.  Captain 
Hanska  never  really  maltreated  me.  He  was 
kind  enough.  Perhaps  he  was  too  kind.  But, 
you  see,  I  found  out  after  a  time  how  he  lived. 


MRS.  HANSKA'S  STORY         59 

That,  for  me,  was  the  beginning  of  the  end. 
He  was  a  brilliant  man.  He  might  have  made 
a  good  living  in  any  one  of  a  variety  of  ways. 
But  he  simply  would  not  work.  He  preferred 
to  live  by  his  wits.  Cards  mainly.  It  was 
long  before  I  realized  that.  He  was  very 
clever  at  concealment,  and  it  never  occurred 
to  me  to  doubt  his  word.  In  fact,  I  did  not 
realize  it  all  until  after  our  marriage.  We 
were  in  New  York—  '  she  hesitated  again. 
"Shall  I  tell  you  the  details?"  Then,  "I  mean, 
of  course,  is  all  this  pertinent?" 

"I've  advised  you  to  tell  everything,"  re 
plied  the  Inspector. 

And  now  Rosalie  Le  Grange,  who  had  been 
sitting  in  unaccustomed  silence,  spoke  for  the 
first  time. 

"You'll  excuse  me,  Inspector,"  she  said  with 
an  asperity  so  well  assumed  that  Martin  Mc- 
Gee  wondered  for  a  moment  whether  she  was 
really  offended,  "but  Mrs.  Hanska  don't  seem 
to  know  her  rights.  She  hasn't  seen  any 
lawyer.  A  person  don't  knock  around  this 
world  for  forty  years  without  gettin'  a  line 
on  what  her  rights  are.  I've  learned.  An' 
I'm  goin'  to  be  your  lawyer  here,  Mrs.  Hanska. 


60  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Now  as  long  as  you  tell  the  truth,  which  of 
course  you  will,  it  don't  matter  about  details. 
What  the  Inspector  is  after  is  who  done  this 
murder,  an'  anythin'  touchin'  on  the  facts.  It 
don't  matter  how  you  learned  it,  but  you  did 
learn  that  Captain  Hanska  was  a  crook." 

Mrs.  Hanska  winced  visibly  at  the  ugly 
word  which  finished  Rosalie's  charge.  But  she 
managed  a  nod  of  assent. 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Le  Grange.  Yes,  I 
learned  that  he  was  a — not  entirely  honorable. 
But  I  stayed  with  him — " 

"Tryin'  to  lift  and  elevate  his  moral  nature," 
said  Rosalie  Le  Grange.  "I've  seen  it  tried 
before  on  that  kind." 

"Of  course  I  believed  that  I  could  change 
him,"  admitted  Mrs.  Hanska.  "But  I  began 
in  time  to  suspect  that  for  one  doubtful  trans 
action  I  knew  about,  there  were  a  dozen  he 
was  keeping  from  me.  It  grew  worse  than 
that,"  her  voice  fell  as  though  she  made  this 
last  admission  very  reluctantly;  "in  time  I  real 
ized  that  he  was  using  me  as  a  lure  for  his 
operations  in  cards — and  other  things.  We 
were  on  our  way  around  the  world.  Where- 
ever  we  went,  he  made  me  entertain  men  that 


MRS.  HANSKA'S  STORY         61 

they  might  play  cards  afterward — and  be 
swindled.  The  end  came  at  Shanghai" — she 
stopped  here  and  made  a  little  effort  before 
she  went  on, — "it  was  a  young  Australian — 
foolish,  and  with  a  great  deal  of  money.  Shall 
I  go  into  that?"  she  paused  here,  and  her  gaze 
traveled  with  another  appeal  to  the  face  of 
Rosalie  Le  Grange. 

"Now,  Inspector,"  said  Rosalie,  "I  don't  see 
why  this  lady  has  to  tell  all  that.  It's  enough 
that  the  game  was  crooked.  You  left  him,  of 
course." 

"I  had  to,"  replied  Mrs.  Hanska.  "It  came 
to  the  point  where  I  must  leave  him  or  turn 
criminal  myself.  I  got  funds  from  home  and 
sailed  for  America  as  soon  as  I  could.  I  went 
straight  to  my  mother  in  Boston/  After  that, 
I  taught  in  a  private  school  to  support  myself. 
I  stayed  there  until  he  found  me  out  and  fol 
lowed  me.  He  wanted  me  to  return  to  him." 

"And,  of  course,  he  would  have  put  her 
through  the  same  thing  again,"  exploded  Bet 
sy-Barbara;  "he  hadn't  changed  any." 

"And  what  did  you  do  next?"  Rosalie  slipped 
in  her  question  before  Mrs.  Hanska  could  re 
buke  Betsy-Barbara  again.  By  this  time, 


62  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Martin  MeGee  was  sitting  back  in  his  chair 
with  a  feeling  that  the  Third  Degree  had  got 
clean  out  of  his  hands.  He  was  a  helpless 
male  thing  in  a  session  of  three  women — a 
piece  of  furniture.  Wise  man  that  he  was,  he 
let  it  take  its  course.  Constance  was  talking 
straight  to  Rosalie  now. 

"I  resumed  my  maiden  name.  I  called  my 
self  Mrs.  Wharton — and  I  got  a  situation  at 
the  seminary  at  Arden — where  Miss  Lane 
teaches  also.  Then  my  mother  died.  At  the 
end  she  made  me  promise  that  I  would  never 
go  back  to  Captain  Hanska  as  long  as  he  led 
that — that  kind  of  life.  Somehow  he  learned, 
though,  that  I  was  in  Arden.  I  told  my  trou 
bles  to  Miss  Lane,  and  she  saw  Captain  Han- 
ska  for  me  the  first  time  he  came — " 

"I  told  him,"  said  Betsy-Barbara,  satisfac 
tion  surging  in  her  voice,  "if  ever  he  came 
around  again  I'd  fix  him — I  told  him  I'd  have 
him  arrested  for  a  whole  lot  of  things  I  knew 
he  had  done.  Oh,  I  frightened  him,  I  tell 
you!" 

The  ferocity  of  Betsy-Barbara's  voice,  taken 
with  her  fairy  fragility,  brought  into  the  situa 
tion  its  first  hint  of  humor.  Rosalie  dimpled. 


MRS.  HANSKA'S  STORY         63 

Even  Constance  let  a  ghost  of  a  smile  play 
about  her  lips.  As  for  Inspector  McGee,  he 
nearly  strangled. 

"I  wanted,"  Constance  proceeded,  "a  sepa 
ration.  I  needed  it  for  my  own  protection. 
You  see,  there  was  the  property — mother  had 
left  a  little  money.  Captain  Hanska  wouldn't 
consent  to  a  divorce." 

"No,"  said  Betsy-Barbara  in  a  tone  of  su 
perhuman  sapience,  "of  course  not!  He 
wanted  that  money." 

"And  there  were  no  real  grounds  that  I 
knew" — Mrs.  Hanska  had  by  this  time  given 
up  the  struggle  with  Betsy-Barbara's  wilful- 
ness — "I  had  deserted  him,  not  he  me. 
Afterward  he  went  away — to  Holland,  I  think. 
At  least  he  was  in  Antwerp  three  months  ago. 
Then  he  returned  to  New  York.  He  sent  me 
a  letter.  He  said  that  he  would  never  give  me 
up.  Then  I  put  the  whole  matter  into  the 
hands  of  Mr.  Wade — Mr.  Lawrence  Wade." 

"Ah!"  The  exclamation  broke  from  the 
immobility  of  Inspector  Martin  McGee.  For 
the  first  time  since  Rosalie  took  the  reins, 
Constance  Hanska  seemed  aware  of  his 
existence. 


64  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "the  young  man  whom  you 
have  arrested  for  this  murder.  I  know,  In 
spector  McGee,  that  my  opinion  will  carry 
little  weight  with  you.  But  I  must  say  this — " 
she  paused,  and  seemed  to  struggle  with  an 
emotion  which,  hitherto  carefully  repressed, 
now  beat  itself  to  the  surface — "Lawrence 
Wade  did  not  commit  that  murder.  He 
couldn't  have  done  it.  He  isn't  that  kind  of" 
a  man." 

Meeting  with  no  sympathetic  response  from 
Inspector  McGee's  look  of  cunning  gravity, 
Mrs.  Hanska  turned  to  Rosalie. 

"Mrs.  Le  Grange,  you  understand,  don't 
you?" — rand  here  her  voice  became  deep  and 
bell-like  with  her  conviction.  "Sometimes 
women  know  things  without  having  to  be  told, 
and  I  know  that  Mr.  Wade  is  innocent.  I 
would  stake  my  life  and  my  honor — every 
thing  I  have — on  that.  And  yet  I  am  per 
fectly  helpless  about  proving  it.  He  is  inno 
cent,  though." 

Rosalie  did  not  commit  herself  here.  But 
eyes  and  dimples  flashed  their  sympathy. 
And  it  was  the  Inspector  who  spoke  first. 

"Well,  that's  what  we're  here  to  settle,  and 


MRS.  HANSKA'S  STORY         65 

if  he  didn't  do  it,  the  best  way  out  is  to  tell  the 
truth." 

"As  if,"  interpolated  Rosalie,  "you  wasn't 
going  to  do  that!  Now  tell  the  Inspector 
about  this  Mr.  Wade — " 

"He  is  my  friend  and  attorney,"  replied 
Mrs.  Hanska.  "He  lives  in  Arden.  I  have 
known  him  ever  since  I  went  there.  He  vis 
ited  New  York  three  times  to  attempt  some 
legal  settlement  with  Captain  Hanska.  He 
wanted  me  to  get  a  divorce.  I  wasn't  quite 
ready  to  do  that,  even  if  I  could  have  found 
grounds.  But  I  was  willing  to  have  a  legal 
separation — something  which  would  have  rid 
me  of  Captain  Hanska  and  let  me  go  my  own 
way.  I  authorized  Mr.  Wade  to  offer  part  of 
my  mother's  property,  if  that  would  do  any 
good.  The  Captain  was  living  in  a  boarding- 
house.  I  knew  his  ways  well  enough  to  realize 
that  this  meant  extreme  poverty.  He  refused 
everything.  He  told  Mr.  Wade  that  as  soon 
as  he  had  arranged  something — he  didn't  say 
what — he  would  find  me  and  compel  me  to  go 
with  him.  I  realized  that  I  must  get  farther 
from  New  York.  I  had  a  few  possessions  of 
Captain  Hanska's.  I  wanted  to  return  them 


66  THE  RED  BUTTON 

and  close  with  him  forever.  Mr.  Wade  had 
an  idea  of  making  one  last  appeal ;  and  I  asked 
him  if  he  would  deliver  those  things  at  the  same 
time.  Yesterday  morning  Mr.  Wade  came 
down  to  New  York.  That's  all  I  know — until 
I  saw  the  newspapers — "  She  stopped  here. 
Her  color  faded;  her  hands  fell  apart  with  a 
gesture  of  despair. 

"And  I  brought  her  straight  to  you,"  said 
Betsy-Barbara  with  a  triumphant  air,  as 
though  her  extraordinary  cunning  had  settled 
the  case  for  all  time. 

Now  the  Inspector  took  up  the  examination 
again,  for  Rosalie  sat  musing,  her  eyes  on  Con 
stance  Hanska. 

"What  were  the  things  you  sent?"  he  asked. 

"Let  me  see — what  were  they?  Betsy -Bar 
bara,  you  helped  pack  them.  An  old  minia 
ture  of  the  Captain — •" 

"And  some  family  photographs — "  Betsy- 
Barbara  put  in  briskly. 

"And  an  old  mahogany  shaving-mirror 
which  had  belonged  to  his  father — " 

"And  a  Mexican  hat-band  and  two  knives 
and  an  Irish  blackthorn  stick  and  a  silver  ciga 
rette  case — " 


MRS.  HANSKA'S  STORY         67 

A  stethoscope  upon  Inspector  McGee's  pulse 
would  have  jumped  an  inch  as  Betsy-Barbara 
pronounced  the  word  "knives."  But  his  down- 
turned  face  betrayed  no  emotion.  He  checked 
his  interruption,  in  fact,  through  two  more 
items;  and  when  he  returned  to  the  subject  he 
worked  backward  like  a  good  attorney,  con 
cealing  his  pertinent  question  in  a  fog  of  im 
pertinent  ones. 

"What  kind  of  a  cigarette  case?" 

"Chased  silver  and  turquoises — a  Russian 
design." 

"What  was  the  stick  like?" 

"Very  heavy,  and  dark  brown  as  I  remem 
ber.  And  I  think  the  ferrule  was  loose." 

Here  Rosalie,  sitting  impassive,  quite  out  of 
the  conversation,  saw  the  corners  of  the  In 
spector's  mouth  twitch.  She  sat  holding  her 
self  very  tight,  lest  she  betray  the  psycholog 
ical  moment. 

"And  the  knives?"  said  the  Inspector. 

"Let  me  see — one  was  a  little  dagger  that  he 
used  for  a  paper-knife  and  the  other  was  a 
Malay  kris  with  a  long,  sharp,  wavy  blade. 
He  got  it  in  the  Philippines." 

"Yes!"  exclaimed  the  Inspector.     And  then 


6$  THE  RED  BUTTON 

with  the  sudden  brutality  which  was  a  part  of 
his  Third  Degree  method,  "And  it  was  with 
that  knife  Lawrence  Wade  stabbed  your  hus 
band." 

Inspector  McGee  might  have  thrown  that 
very  knife  instead  of  his  words,  so  sudden  was 
the  effect  upon  Constance  Hanska.  The  color 
left  her  face.  Her  eyes  grew  big  and  wild. 
She  flashed  to  her  feet,  trembling  violently. 

"Oh,  no!"  she  pleaded,  "oh,  no!  Oh,  that 
will  hurt  him  so!  He  couldn't  have  used  it — 
some  one  used  it  after  he  left — Lawrence 
Wade  could  no  more  have  stabbed  an  unarmed 
man — "  She  stopped,  wrestled  herself  baek 
to  some  semblance  of  composure.  "Don't  you 
understand  he  was  a  gentleman?"  She  turned 
from  McGee's  triumphant  state  to  Rosalie's 
softened  face.  "Why,  Mrs.  Le  Grange, 
gentlemen  don't  do  such  things.  He  was  an 
athlete — he  played  every  game  honorably — 
do  you  think  he  would  have  put  me  in  such  a 
position,  even  if  he  thought  of  nothing  else — he 
would  have  had  to  break  every  instinct — he — 
he—" 

"Look  here,  Mrs.  Hanska,"  said  Inspector 
McGee,  pouncing  upon  his  advantage  as  ex- 


MRS.  HANSKA'S  STORY         69 

perience  had  taught  him  to  do,  "there  was 
what  you  call  an  affair  between  you  and  this 
Mr.  Wade,  wasn't  there?" 

Here  Rosalie  swung  in  again. 

"Inspector,"  she  said,  "if  you  go  that  way, 
I'll  advise  this  young  woman  to  get  a  real 
lawyer  before  she  talks  to  you  any  more. 
Now,  my  dear,  you  just  answer  what  you 
please." 

"Well,  I  should  say  sol"  put  in  Betsy-Bar 
bara.  "Constance,  why  don't  you  leave  this 
place  at  once  ?  You  didn't  come  here  to  be  in 
sulted." 

But  Constance  was  mistress  of  herself  again. 

"All  this  will  come  out  in  the  trial,  Betsy- 
Barbara.  I  might  as  well  tell  everything  now. 
When  he  put  himself  in  this  position  he  was 
trying  to  help  me.  There  was  no  affair,  as 
you  call  it.  But  when  he  first  met  me  he 
thought  I  was  a  widow.  And  before  he  knew 
my  circumstances,  he  proposed  marriage.  He 
never  spoke  of  it  after  I  told  him.  He  was  a 
gentleman.  He  only  tried  to  serve  me  as  a 
gentleman  would  under  the  circumstances." 

"Has  it  struck  you,"  asked  the  Inspector, 
"that  this  might  be  used  as  a  motive?" 


70  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"This  is  perfectly  dreadful!"  cried  Betsy- 
Barbara.  "Constance,  you  shall  not  stay  here 
another  minute.  You  come  with  me  to  a 
lawyer!" 

"That's  right,"  said  Rosalie  Le  Grange 
shortly,  "Inspector  McGee,  you  can  excuse 
us!" 

"Not  for  a  while,"  said  Inspector  McGee 
shortly.  "Madame,  I  must  have  your  official 
statement  as  to  what  you  have  just  told  me — 
before  I  let  you  leave." 

Now  Constance  had  risen;  and  Betsy-Bar 
bara,  in  a  state  of  suppressed  fury,  stood  beside 
her,  flashing  sparks  from  her  golden  hair  and 
her  blue  eyes  and  her  little  white  teeth.  In 
spector  McGee  stepped  to  the  door  to  summon 
a  stenographer.  And  Rosalie,  quick  as 
thought,  slipped  up  beside  Constance. 

"Not  a  word  more  than  you  can  help  about 
this  proposing  to  you — not  a  word!"  she  whis 
pered. 

"Step  into  this  room,  ladies,"  said  McGee. 
"I'll  join  you  in  a  moment.  We  won't  need 
you,  Mrs.  Le  Grange." 

Alone  with  the  Inspector,  Rosalie  Le  Grange 
stood  regarding  him  from  top  to  toe.  He 


MRS.  HANSKA'S  STORY         71 

faced  her  in  a  little  embarrassment,  which  he 
covered  with  bluff. 

"Well,  you  carried  your  pretend  off  nicely," 
he  said;  "anybody 'd  have  thought  you  were 
sore  on  me." 

For  answer,  Rosalie  drew  up  a  corner  of  her 
fine,  firm,  upper  lip.  "Sometimes,"  she  said, 
"I  hate  a  cop!" 

Martin  McGee  laughed  uneasily. 

"Well,  we  got  the  goods,"  he  said;  "motive's 
established,  all  right." 

"You  got  the  goods,  not  we"  replied  Rosa 
lie;  "don't  you  count  me  in  on  that  game. 
Third  Degree!  On  the  likes  of  her !" 

But  Inspector  McGee,  more  interested  just 
then  in  his  professional  problem  than  in  what 
any  woman  thought  of  him,  was  pursuing  his 
own  train  of  reflection. 

"In  love  with  Hanska's  wife — and  Hanska'd 
mistreated  her — and  she  wanted  a  divorce  and 
couldn't  get  it.  Wade  and  Hanska  had  quar 
reled.  Wade  goes  up  there  with  his  curio 
shop  and  lays  it  down  on  the  table.  They 
quarrel  again.  Wade's  a  fencer.  He  picks 
up  that  knife  and  lets  him  have  it  just  by  in 
stinct.  Then  he  walks  out  of  the  door  and  gets 


72  THE  RED  BUTTON 

rattled  and  beats  it.  Of  course,  it  would  be 
hard  to  establish  first-degree  murder  on  what 
we've  got  now — but  we'll  get  it." 

"You  think  so,  do  you?"  replied  Rosalie. 
"My,  don't  promotion  make  a  smart  man  of  a 
pavement-pounding  cop !" 

"Guess  you  don't  know,"  replied  McGee, 
"what  this  man  Wade  said  when  we  pinched 
him  in  Boston  and  told  him  what  it  was  for?" 

"No." 

"He  said:     'I  didn't  kill  him,  but  by  God 
I'd  like  to  shake  hands  with  the  man  who  did !' ' 
In  the  Inspector's  voice  there  was  an  air  of  fi 
nality  and  triumph. 

"Did  he  say  that?"  asked  Rosalie;  "did  he 
say  that?"  She  mused  for  a  moment,  revolv 
ing  many  principles  of  human  conduct  drawn 
from  her  large  experience. 

"Martin  McGee,"  she  said  at  length,  "I 
told  you  a  while  ago  I  wasn't  going  to  monkey 
with  this  thing.  But  I'm  an  old  fool — and  I'm 
in  it — my  own  way,  as  I  always  worked." 

McGee  laughed. 

"I  thought  you  couldn't  keep  out,"  he  said, 
"but  you'll  run  against  Lawrence  Wade  at  the 
end." 


MRS.  HANSKA'S  STORY         73 

As  the  two  strange  women  came  through  the 
door,  they  found  Rosalie  Le  Grange  waiting. 
Constance  looked  her  full  in  the  eye ;  and  sud 
denly  her  hands  went  up  to  her  own  face  and 
she  surrendered  herself  to  her  misery.  And 
oddly  enough,  she  turned  in  her  distress  not 
to  her  friend  and  companion  Betsy-Barbara, 
but  to  this  strange  woman.  As  a  bruised  child 
runs  to  its  mother,  she  ran  to  Rosalie  Le 
Grange  and  bowed  a  weary  head  upon  her 
shoulder.  Rosalie  took  her  to  the  bosom  on 
which — in  her  own  queer  way — she  had  borne 
the  burdens  of  thousands  for  thirty  years  long. 

"You  poor  lamb!"  she  exclaimed;  "you  poor 
lamb!  Now  it's  going  to  be  all  right,  dearie 
—and  you're  comin'  home  with  me!" 

"And  that!"  said  Rosalie  Le  Grange  as  she 
retold  this  tale  to  the  only  person  who  ever 
enjoyed  her  full  confidence,  "was  the  queerest 
way  that  ever  I  saw  of  solicitin'  custom  for  a 
boardin'-house." 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   MAN   WHO   LAUGHS 


will  become  of  me?"  wailed 
Mrs.  Moore  to  Rosalie  Le  Grange. 
And  Rosalie  f  orebore  at  first  to  answer,  for  the 
ultimate  destiny  of  Mrs.  Moore  appeared,  in 
deed,  black  and  uncertain. 

Not  that  undulation  and  gnashing  of  teeth 
meant  anything  in  her  case.  Weeping,  for  her, 
was  the  oil  on  the  wheels  of  life.  She  wept 
when  the  butcher  failed  to  bring  the  lamb 
chops,  when  she  was  moved  by  song,  when  she 
compared  the  luxuries  of  Madame  Le  Grange's 
house  to  the  bare  necessities  of  her  own.  Still, 
in  this  instance,  she  had  cause  for  grief.  The 
police,  having  ransacked,  measured,  and  photo 
graphed  the  Moore  boarding-house  to  the  limit 
of  their  imagination,  announced  after  four  days 
that  Mrs.  Moore  might  bring  her  establishment 
back.  But  when  Mrs.  Moore  notified  the 
boarders,  she  met  —  the  expected.  Miss  Hard- 

74 


75 

ing,  for  example,  declared  that  she  was  going 
to  let  well  enough  alone.  After  what  had  hap 
pened  she  could  never  sleep  in  that  place  again. 
When  Mrs.  Moore  melted  to  tears,  Miss  Hard 
ing  grew  peppery.  If  Mrs.  Moore  wanted  to 
know,  it  was  towels,  more  than  anything  else, 
which  kept  her  at  Mrs.  Le  Grange's.  She 
had  boarded  in  ten  separate  and  distinct  places 
in  New  York,  and  never  before  did  she  see  a 
place  where  you  couldn't  use  the  towels  for  a 
pocket-handkerchief.  Miss  Jones,  her  echo  in 
everything,  indorsed  her  sentiments,  adding 
that  Mrs.  Le  Grange's  coffee  was  coffee. 

Professor  Noll  was  more  courteous,  but  just 
as  firm.  He  had  already  indicated  his  inten 
tions  by  getting  permission  from  the  police  to 
move  his  collection.  When  Mrs.  Moore  inter 
viewed  him,  he  was  tacking  on  the  wall  a  six- 
foot  Japanese  kakemono.  He  was  sorry,  but 
the  greater  variety  of  menu  at  Mrs.  Le 
Grange's  helped  him  to  practise  the  principles 
of  scientific  alimentation.  If  Mrs.  Moore 
would  listen  to  his  former  advice  and  reor 
ganize  her  catering  on  the  scientific  plan,  he 
could  guarantee  her  a  houseful  of  his  disciples. 
Otherwise,  he  preferred  to  stay  where  he  was. 


76  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Mr.  North,  just  out  of  jail,  had  not  put  in  an 
appearance.  Mrs.  Moore  did  not  even  attempt 
to  see  Miss  Estrilla.  That  lady  was  worse,  a 
great  deal  worse.  Besides  the  old  trouble  with 
her  optic  nerve,  she  had  a  kind  of  nervous  pros 
tration  due  to  the  shock.  There  had  been  talk 
of  a  trained  nurse;  but  Rosalie  Le  Grange 
waved  that  proposal  aside.  She  herself  carried 
up  the  invalid's  meals,  attended  to  bandages 
and  medicines,  kept  order  in  her  room.  Mrs. 
Moore  had  no  offering  to  counterbalance  that. 

Instead — floppy  and  humble  old  person  that 
she  was — Mrs.  Moore  sought  her  successful 
rival,  begging  quarter. 

"What  can  I  do — what  is  going  to  become  of 
me?"  she  repeated. 

Rosalie  Le  Grange  pulled  out  a  chair  and 
gently  pushed  Mrs.  Moore  into  it. 

"Now  let's  talk  this  over  sensible,"  she  said. 
"It  certainly  does  look  as  if  I'd  played  it  low  on 
you,  gettin'  your  boarders  away.  You  can't 
blame  me  for  offerin'  my  place  that  night. 
Neither  can  you  blame  me  if  they  want  to  stay. 
I  haven't  asked  them  to." 

Here  Mrs.  Moore  showed  a  shade  of  mushy 
resentment. 


A  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS          77 

"You  set  a  better  table  than  I  can  set  at  the 
price  they  pay,"  she  said.  "You  can't  keep 
that  up.  If  that  ain't  getting  them  away  from 
me—" 

"You  rent  your  house,  don't  you?"  inquired 
Rosalie  Le  Grange. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Moore,  dabbing  her 
eyes. 

"Rent  it  furnished?" 

"Yes." 

"Has  it  been  full  lately?" 

"No.  I've  had  room  for  four  more  all  spring 
and  summer.  Times  are  dreadful  hard — " 
Mrs.  Moore  ceased  to  weep  for  herself  and 
dropped  a  tear  over  the  whole  state  of  the  body 
politic. 

"You  haven't  made  much  money  then?" 

"Money!"  sobbed  Mrs.  Moore,  breaking  out 
afresh  on  her  own  account,  "I  scarcely  keep 
soul  and  body  together — I  barely  hold  a  roof 
over  my  head." 

"It  hasn't  occurred  to  you,  I  guess,"  said 
Rosalie  Le  Grange,  "that  I  own  this  house  and 
furniture.  I  haven't  got  any  rent  to  pay. 
Moreover,  with  this  Mrs.  Hanska  and  Miss 
Lane,  who  came  in  unexpected,  an'  some  partic- 


78  THE  RED  BUTTON 

ular  personal  friends  that  are  comin'  next 
week,  I'll  be  full  up.  Guess  you  can  see  how 
I  make  it  pay.  Guess  you  can  afford  to  take 
back  what  you  said — about  my  keeping  up  a 
grade  of  victuals  that  I  couldn't  afford  regular, 
just  to  git  custom  away  from  you." 

Outmaneuvered,  Mrs.  Moore  flopped. 

"What  will  become  of  me!"  she  wailed. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Moore,"  said  Rosalie,  "with  the 
high  rent  they  charged  you  for  the  old  place, 
there  was  no  future  for  you.  You  were  bound 
to  fail.  I've  got  a  better  way.  I'm  busy,  an' 
I'm  goin'  to  be  busier.  You  see  this  house — 
well,  it  ain't  my  only  interest.  An'  jest  at 
present  I'm  rushed  to  death.  Goodness  knows, 
standin'  off  reporters  the  way  I've  had  to  do 
this  last  week,  is  one  woman's  job.  I've  got  to 
hire  a  housekeeper  to  look  after  things  an'  tend 
front  door  an'  help  out  with  the  cleaning. 
How  would  you  like  that?  Over  there,  you 
were  carryin'  the  whole  thing  an'  workin'  for 
your  board.  Here,  you'll  git  thirty-five  a 
month,  an'  I'll  do  the  worryin'." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Le  Grange!"  wailed  Mrs.  Moore; 
and  this  time  the  moving  emotion  was  grati 
tude- 


A  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS          79 

So,  at  the  end  of  a  mighty  anxious  and  per 
turbing  week,  the  old  Moore  household  settled 
down  on  Rosalie  Le  Grange,  shook  itself  to 
gether  again,  and  returned  to  the  dull  routine 
of  its  days.  Professor  Noll  rode  his  hobby  as 
gaily  as  ever.  Miss  Harding  resumed  her 
vocation  of  typing  and  her  avocation  of  study 
ing  man  for  her  uses.  Miss  Jones  continued 
to  imitate  her  roommate  in  her  own  shadowy 
and  futile  way.  Miss  Estrilla  grew  no  better; 
still  she  remained  in  her  room,  visited  daily  by 
the  doctor,  nightly  by  her  brother  and  hourly 
by  Rosalie. 

The  two  new  boarders — they  were  longest 
naturally  in  settling  to  the  routine.  Indeed, 
two  or  three  days  passed  before  the  others  grew 
acclimated  to  their  thrilling  and  somewhat  per 
turbing  presence.  But  Constance  and  Betsy- 
Barbara  behaved  through  a  soul-racking  week 
in  such  manner  as  to  secure  Rosalie's  growing 
affections  and  to  win  the  respect  of  the  rest. 
Until  after  the  harrowing  funeral  and  the  more 
harrowing  Coroner's  inquest,  Constance  kept 
to  her  room.  There  was  special  need  for  that ; 
in  spite  of  all  Rosalie's  tact,  she  was  a  woman 
besieged.  The  newspapers  kept  her  under  fire. 


80  THE  RED  BUTTON 

First  came  the  police  reporters.  Constance 
saw  them  once.  The  interview  was  very  little 
garbled,  on  the  whole,  even  though  one  yellow 
evening  newspaper  did  make  her  say,  in  type 
three  inches  high,  "I  loved  Lawrence  Wade — 
is  not  that  enough?"  Then,  when  she  refused 
any  more  interviews,  came  the  feminine  sym 
pathy  writers.  One  of  them  pushed  past  the 
guard  in  a  moment  when  Rosalie  was  away 
and  got  an  interview  which  won  her  a  bonus 
from  the  city  editor.  Others  pecked  at  her 
during  her  passage  from  the  house  to  the  fu 
neral  or  the  inquest,  supplying  with  imagination 
and  description  what  they  lacked  of  informa 
tion.  "She  is  like  a  Venus  with  a  convent 
education,"  wrote  one.  That,  perhaps,  de 
scribes  Constance  Hanska  better  than  I  can. 
When  she  went  abroad,  she  faced  batteries  of 
clicking  camera  shutters.  Her  photograph,  to 
gether  with  impressionist  drawings  more  or  less 
accurate,  blazoned  the  front  page  of  every 
afternoon  extra.  Parenthetically,  let  me  men 
tion  that  to  Miss  Harding  these  pictures  formed 
the  most  thrilling  feature  of  the  whole  affair. 
On  the  day  after  the  inquest,  an  afternoon  yel 
low,  being  short  of  news  and  imagination,  made 


A  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS          81 

an  extra  of  the  "Three  Beautiful  Women  in 
the  Hanska  Case."  They  were  Constance, 
Betsy-Barbara  and  Miss  Katherine  Harding. 
Publicly,  Miss  Harding  affected  to  be  injured 
in  all  her  finer  feelings;  secretly,  she  bought 
ten  copies.  As  for  Lawrence  Wade,  his  breed 
ing,  his  athletic  career,  his  personal  comeliness 
— but  Lawrence  Wade  will  enter  in  his  proper 
place. 

The  newspapers  were  not  the  only  extra  irri 
tation.  Mrs.  Hanska's  mail  grew  until  the 
postman  approached  the  Le  Grange  boarding- 
house  looking  like  Christmas  and  departed 
looking  like  Monday  morning.  Clipping 
bureaus,  private-detective  agencies,  young  men 
who  wanted  to  be  detectives,  unknown  but  cor 
dial  friends — their  letters  came  by  dozens,  by 
scores,  by  hundreds.  Ill-spelled  notes  from 
Mills  Hotels  hinted  at  mysterious  knowledge. 
A  man  wrote  from  a  sanatorium  in  New  Jersey 
to  say  that  he  himself  committed  the  murder 
because  Captain  Hanska  had  assisted  Napo 
leon  and  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  to  pester  the 
author's  astral  body.  There  were  two  offers  to 
star  in  vaudeville,  three  to  pose  for  moving-pic 
tures  and  proposals  enough  to  accommodate  all 


82  THE  RED  BUTTON 

New  England.  After  the  first  day,  Constance 
never  saw  these  letters.  Betsy-Barbara,  her 
consoler  and  amanuensis,  read  them — and  de 
stroyed  them  unanswered.  She  discussed  them 
with  Rosalie  alone. 

On  the  morning  after  the  inquest,  Constance 
quietly  took  her  place  at  the  common  table  in 
the  dining-room.  The  rest  of  the  boarders 
stilled  their  tongues  for  embarrassment.  And 
not  only  embarrassment;  undoubtedly  there 
was  prejudice.  Rosalie,  presiding  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  did  not  make  the  mistake  of  trying 
to  lull  this  feeling  immediately.  She  let  mat 
ters  take  their  course  for  two  meals.  At  the 
third,  she  tactfully  drew  Constance  into  an 
argument  over  the  distance  to  Paris.  That 
served  for  an  opening.  Little  by  little,  the 
sweetness  of  Constance,  as  exploited  by  Rosalie 
Le  Grange,  made  its  own  way.  What  had 
been  a  kind  of  horror  of  a  woman  in  her  situa 
tion,  became  pity  and  sympathy. 

As  for  Betsy-Barbara,  that  sprightly  young 
person  was  popular  from  the  first.  She  took 
hold  of  the  Hanska-Wade  case  as  though  its 
settlement  devolved  upon -her  alone.  Within 
three  days  she  had  interviewed  every  one  in  the 


A  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS          83 

house,  from  Mrs.  Moore  to  Miss  Estrilla,  and 
had  formed  a  half-dozen  theories,  all  proving 
the  innocence  of  Lawrence  Wade.  It  mat 
tered  not  that  Rosalie,  already  her  confidant, 
shattered  all  these  bubbles.  Betsy-Barbara 
would  simply  interview  her  witness  again,  and 
blow  another.  Constance  was  her  daily  and 
hourly  care. 

"She's  bearing  it,"  said  Betsy-Barbara,  re 
porting  to  Rosalie  Le  Grange,  "as  I  expected 
she  would.  Me — I'd  be  crying  on  everybody's 
shoulder.  She  does  her  crying  alone — but  it's 
telling  on  her.  As  for  him — he's  splendid. 
Just  bully !  That's  the  only  way  to  put  it." 

I  leave  to  the  newspapers  the  official  events 
— "the  developments"  of  that  week.  Indeed, 
they  reported  few  essentials  which  we  do  not  al 
ready  'know.  The  inquest  was  over ;  the  body 
of  Captain  Hanska  had  traveled  the  road  of 
flesh  to  the  crematory;  Lawrence  Wade  was 
held  in  the  Tombs  without  bail,  to  await  ac 
tion  of  the  Grand  Jury.  The  evidence  against 
him  was  circumstantial  but  strong.  He  had 
proposed  marriage  to  Mrs.  Hanska.  Both  he 
and  his  attorney  tried  to  keep  that  out  when 
Constance  went  on  the  stand ;  they  lost,  and  she 


84  THE  RED  BUTTON 

told  the  fact  with  a  simplicity  which  filled 
columns  and  columns  of  space  next  morning. 
She  insisted  that  he  never  mentioned  marriage 
after  she  told  him  her  story.  Lawrence  Wade, 
naturally,  wanted  a  divorce.  Captain  Hanska 
had  refused.  There  was  the  motive,  perfect, 
comprehensible.  Wade  and  Hanska  had  met 
twice  before  and  quarreled  both  times.  On  the 
night  of  the  tragedy,  Lawrence  Wade,  carry 
ing  a  hand-bag,  had  gone  to  Captain  Hanska's 
room  at  about  ten  o'clock.  The  bag  contained, 
among  other  things,  two  knives. 

Lawrence  Wade  admitted  this ;  and  admitted 
also  that  he  had  left  all  the  debris  which  littered 
Captain  Hanska's  table.  "That  was  part  of 
my  errand,"  he  said.  He  had  gone  from  Mrs. 
Moore's  to  the  Curfew  Club,  had  found  from 
the  desk  clerk  that  there  was  a  one  o'clock  train 
to  Boston,  had  telephoned  for  a  berth,  had 
taken  the  train,  had  been  arrested  in  Boston 
while  engaging  passage  for  Liverpool.  At 
half  past  two,  Captain  Hanska  had  been  found 
dead — stabbed  in  the  heart  with  a  clean  thrust 
by  one  of  the  very  knives  which  Wade  admitted 
bringing  from  Arden.  The  Coroner's  physi 
cian  testified  that  Hanska  had  been  dead  an 


A  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS          85 

hour,  and  probably  much  longer.  The  knife 
traveled  an  upward  course.  Nothing  about 
the  bed  indicated  any  struggle;  moreover,  the 
experts  said,  it  was  nearly  impossible  for  a 
man  so  large  and  so  heavy  to  regain  his  feet 
after  such  a  stroke.  He  must  have  been 
stabbed  standing.  If  so,  the  thrust  came  from 
the  "front"  of  the  murderer's  hand — a  fencer's 
blow.  And  there  was  no  doubt  that  Wade  was 
a  fencer.  At  this  point  in  the  proceedings, 
Rosalie  Le  Grange,  sitting «in  the  family  group 
with  Constance  and  Lawrence  Wade's  vener 
able  father,  might  have  seemed  visibly  de 
pressed — had  any  reporter  taken  the -trouble  to 
watch  this  mere  landlady. 

Indeed — and  the  newspapers  made  signifi 
cant  comment  on  this — the  putative  defend 
ant,  although  a  lawyer  himself,  admitted  all 
these  facts  except  touching  upon  his  relations 
with  Mrs.  Hanska.  He  admitted  his  feeling 
against  Hanska.  He  volunteered  the  opinion 
that  such  a  man  deserved  killing.  On  the  night 
of  the  murder,  he  said,  they  had  quarreled 
again.  Hanska  had  refused  all  proposals. 
Thereupon  he  had  taken  that  consignment  of 
small  possessions  out  of  the  bag,  and  had  de- 


86  THE  RED  BUTTON 

parted.  On  one  point  alone  was  he  vague. 
He  did  not  tell  fully  why  he  had  started  so 
suddenly  for  Europe.  "I  was  afraid  to 
stay,"  he  said  once.  His  attorneys  intimated 
that  he  would  explain  this,  also,  if  there  were 
further  proceedings.  On  this  point,  Constance 
committed  her  only  indiscretion.  It  was  that 
very  afternoon  when  the  feminine  "sympathy 
writer"  succeeded  in  reaching  her.  "I  know 
why  he  did  that,"  Constance  told  her,  "and  I'll 
tell  you,  if  he  won't.  He  could  do  me  no  fur 
ther  good  and  he  was  afraid  of  what  he 
might  do  to  Captain  Hanska.  He  said  before 
he  left  for  New  York  that  if  he  failed  I  might 
not  see  him  for  a  long  time." 

And  so  the  Coroner's  jury  found  that  John 
H.  Hanska  came  to  his  death  from  a  knife 
wound  at  the  hands  of  Lawrence  Wade  or 
persons  unknown,  and  recommended  that  the 
said  Lawrence  Wade  be  held  to  await  action 
of  the  Grand  Jury.  He  went  back  to  the 
Tombs  under  guard — a  straight,  clean,  stal 
wart  figure  of  a  young  man,  seeming,  in  con 
trast  with  the  court-room  lawyers,  the  shysters, 
the  followers  of  sensation,  like  an  eagle  who 
has  been  captured  by  sparrow-hawks  and  buz- 


A  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS          87 

zards.  He  did  not  look  at  Constance  as  he 
marched  away,  nor  she  at  him,  and  the  report 
ers  must  needs  conjecture  what  happened  be 
tween  them  in  their  two  interviews  through 
the  bars  of  the  Tombs.  They  could  not  know 
how  bravely  and  humanly  simple  were  the  talks 
between  this  man  and  this  woman. 

Here  and  now,  the  corporeal  presence  of 
Lawrence  Wade  shall  fade  for  a  time  from  this 
story.  He  is  like  every  jeune  premier  in  every 
tale  of  crime  and  mystery.  Although  the  mat 
ters  related  concern  him  most  of  all,  he  is  still 
the  least  active  character  involved ;  he  has  least 
to  do  with  the  final  solution  of  events.  By  de 
vices  which  I  consider  unfair  to  the  reader,  I 
might  keep  Lawrence  Wade  in  the  foreground ; 
I  might  even  play  intruder  at  some  of  his 
bravely  pathetic  meetings  with  Constance  Han- 
ska.  But  all  this  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  my  story.  His  hands  are  strong,  his  heart 
is  firm,  his  judgment  clear;  yet  his  fate  lies 
in  weaker  hands  and  hearts  and  judgments. 

You  have,  of  course,  concluded  by  this  time 
that  he  is  innocent.  Perhaps  you  are  right; 
the  unfolding  of  this  tale  will  tell.  Leave  him 
now  in  the  Tombs,  to  play  his  own  native  reso- 


88  THE  RED  BUTTON 

lution  against  the  forces  of  darkness  and  to 
gather  what  consolation  he  may  from  the  visits 
of  his  Lady  of  Sorrows  and  of  her  little  golden 
girl-comrade. 

The  next  day,  an  aviator  accomplished  some 
thing  new  in  the  advertising  annals  of  the  air. 
He  eloped  by  aeroplane.  It  is  true  that  he 
had  no  need  of  eloping,  the  family-in-law  be 
ing  as  willing  as  his  actress-bride.  The  young 
couple  merely  chose  that  method  as  a  way  of 
starting  prosperously  on  the  road  of  life.  But 
the  newspapers,  in  view  of  this  dazzling  pic 
ture-story,  inquired  not  too  closely  regarding 
motives.  And  scarcely  had  news  of  this  event 
given  way  to  impressions  of  special  writers, 
when  a  train  went  over  a  trestle  in  Connecti 
cut.  By  the  time  the  papers  had  finished  with 
this,  the  Hanska  Case  had  dwindled  to  two-inch 
items,  single  head.  The  District  Attorney  de 
layed,  the  Grand  Jury  delayed,  the  police  de 
layed,  while  the  forces  of  Martin  McGee 
combed  New  York  and  New  England  for  evi 
dence  bearing  upon  the  life  and  career  of  Law 
rence  Wade. 

But  one  more  glimpse  of  Lawrence  before 


A  MAN  WHO  LAUGHS          89 

we  leave  him ;  and  here  let  me  quote  Inspector 
McGee.  Entering  his  private  office  in  a  state 
of  suppressed  irritation  bordering  on  fury,  the 
Inspector  met  his  doorman.  Long  contact  had 
given  this  inferior  the  privilege  of  familiarity 
with  the  truly  great. 

"How  are  your  Third  Degree  proceedings 
getting  on,  Chief?"  he  asked. 

"Damn  him!"  cried  Martin  McGee  heartily; 
"damn  him!  What  are  you  going  to  do  with 
a  man  when  he  laughs  at  you?" 


CHAPTER  V 

TOMMY   NORTH 

TOMMY  NORTH,  after  the  first  day,  was 
a  pawn  in  this  game — a  captured  pawn, 
laid  to  one  side  of  the  board.  The  police  held 
him,  it  is  true,  until  after  the  Coroner's  verdict ; 
then,  without  apology,  the  turnkey  cast  him 
loose.  His  first  concern  was  for  his  mother 
in  the  village  of  White  Horse,  Connecticut. 
Only  by  false  assurances  and  by  the  assistance 
of  an  aunt,  who  hid  the  newspapers  from  her, 
did  he  succeed  in  keeping  her  away  from  New 
York.  He  hurried  to  her,  and  in  two  days 
mollified  her  anger — not  at  his  being  accused 
of  murder,  but  at  his  being  drunk.  He  re 
turned  to  find  his  job  gone.  Tommy  North 
took  such  catastrophies  more  philosophically 
than  most.  He  had  filled  and  lost  a  dozen 
jobs  in  three  years  of  New  York.  "Easy 
come,  easy  go,"  was  his  motto — as  he  told 
Rosalie  Le  Grange  when  he  called  to  take  away 

90 


TOMMY  NORTH  91 

his  possessions,  removed  by  her  from  the  Moore 
house. 

"I'd  like  to  stay,"  he  told  her,  "but  I  want 
to  get  the  taste  of  this  thing  out  of  my  mouth." 
He  sat  down  on  his  trunk  and  looked  depres 
sion.  And  depression,  somehow,  rested  ill 
upon  that  frank  freckled  countenance  with  its 
shock  of  unruly  red  hair.  "Wouldn't  seem  so 
bad  if  you  didn't  have  all  the  murder  company 
here.  But  I'm  sensitive,  I  guess.  I've  lost  my 
job  on  account  of  this.  I'm  a  marked  man." 

"Now  look  a-here,  Mr.  North,"  said  Rosalie, 
carefully  folding  one  of  his  coats.  "You  don't 
never  want  to  say  that.  People  ain't  marked 
unless  they  mark  themselves.  I've  seen  the 
littlest  things  in  the  world  just  hammer  people 
through  the  floor,  and  I've  seen  the  biggest 
scandals  lived  clean  down.  It's  all  in  the  way 
you  face  it.  If  you're  afraid,  and  act  like 
you're  afraid,  then  you're  gone.  Just  treat  it 
like  it  hadn't  happened.  That's  the  way." 

"It  wouldn't  have  ruined  my  young  reputa 
tion  entirely,"  pursued  Tommy  North,  giving 
way  to  his  depression  now  that  he  had  a  sym 
pathetic  listener,  "if  I  hadn't  indulged  in  a 
little  extra  illumination  that  night.  And  take 


92  THE  RED  BUTTON 

it  from  me,  on  the  word  of  a  volunteer  fireman,, 
from  Alpine,  Mich.,  Pioneer  Hose,  Number 
Three,  every  single  burner  was  going  when  I 
got  home.  People  would  sympathize  with  me 
for  being  arrested,  now  that  it's  proved  that  I 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  case.  But  being 
drunk  is  different — oh,  very  different." 

"Tell  me,"  said  Rosalie  pausing  from  fold 
ing  coats  and  regarding  him,  arms  akimbo,  "do 
you  really  like  the  stuff?" 

Tommy  North,  unaccustomed  to  self -analy 
sis,  turned  this  over  in  his  mind  for  several 
seconds. 

"Well,  no,"  he  said  at  length,  "can't  say 
I  do.  I  suppose  everybody  loathes  the  Demon 
when  he's  going  down.  Course,  I  always  say, 
'Smooth!'  with  the  rest  of  them,  even  when  it 
tears  my  diaphragm  like  a  disk  harrow.  No,  I 
don't  like  the  taste  of  it.  Anyhow,  I've  got  so 
that  no  one  suspects  my  maiden  emotions.  I 
don't  make  a  face  or  choke  any  longer." 

"Was  this  the  first  time  you  were  ever  drunk 
then?" 

"The  first!"  said  Tommy.  "The  first! 
Nearer  the  hundred  and  seventy-seventh — and 
a  few  j  aglets  beside." 


TOMMY  NORTH  93 

"I've  got  your  number,"  said  Rosalie  Le 
Grange.  "There's  a  small  million  like  you. 
Let  me  tell  you  about  yourself.  You're 
young.  You've.got  neither  family  nor  girl  here 
in  New  York.  There's  nothing  for  you  to  do 
nights  but  to  meet  the  boys.  An'  you  begin 
to  pour  it  down.  The  next  thing  you  know, 
or  don't  know,  you're  drunk  an'  uncomfortable. 
Ain't  that  so?" 

"Uncomfortable!"  exclaimed  Tommy  North; 
"when  I'm  drunk?  Woman,  I  own  New 
York!  I  have  an  option  on  the  Hudson  Ter 
minal  and  a  mortgage  on  the  Singer  Building. 
Of  course,  the  next  morning  when  I'm  un- 
drunk,  there's  a  pale  Jerseyish  cast  over  the 
face  of  things."  This  was  the  first  time  in  his 
life  that  Tommy  North  had  ever  admitted  a 
"hangover."  He  used  to  tell  his  companions 
that  hard  liquor  was  his  beefsteak. 

"Well,  then  I  suppose  there's  no  use  askin'," 
went  on  Rosalie,  "why  you  do  it.  It's  because 
there's  nothing  else  to  do.  Your  play  is  to  find 
something  just  as  absorbin'  and  as  excitin'  as 
liquor,  but  not  quite  so  foolish." 

"Sure!"  said  Tommy.  "The  pot  of  gold  at 
the  end  ol  the  rainbow,  or  Captain  Kidd's 


94  THE  RED  BUTTON 

treasure.  Anyhow,  I'm  going  away  from 
here." 

''Now,  Mr.  North,"  said  Rosalie,  "there's 
two  ways  of  facing  a  thing  down — stay,  an'  go. 
Which  is  better,  I  don't  know.  Which  is 
braver,  I  do.  Here's  a  room  for  you.  Board 
here  the  rest  of  this  week — on  me — while  you 
look  around — an'  if  you  think  then  that  goin's 
the  best  way,  then  go." 

Tommy  North,  inured  to  an  atmosphere 
wherein  none  gives  something  for  nothing,  re 
garded  Rosalie  Le  Grange  with  a  look  in  which 
gratitude  struggled  with  suspicion. 

"You're  thinkin',"  responded  Rosalie,  reach 
ing  out  to  seize  his  thought,  "that  this  is  just 
my  play  to  fill  my  boardin'-house.  Think  it 
if  you  want  to.  But  this  is  my  proposition: 
you  keep  this  room  free  until  Monday,  an'  if 
you  want,  you  can  have  it  permanent  at  twelve 
a  week,  which  is  what  you  paid  Mrs.  Moore." 

"I'm  sure  I'm  much  obliged,"  said  Tommy, 
suspicion  departing.  "I'll  stay  the  week  out, 
and  make  up  my  mind." 

"Sensible,"  replied  Rosalie.  "I'll  send  up 
towels — and  dinner's  at  six-thirty." 

Now  it  happened  that  just  before  Tommy 


TOMMY  NORTH  95 

North  left  his  room  for  dinner  that  evening, 
an  hour  of  solitary  thought  had  brought  him 
to  the  nadir  of  his  existence.  Position  gone — 
reputation  (as  he  thought)  gone — a  charity 
guest  in  a  boarding-house.  For  so,  in  his 
young  melancholy,  he  translated  the  kindness 
of  Rosalie  Le  Grange.  Their  conversation, 
reinforcing  his  bad  two  days  with  his  mother, 
had  piled  remorse  on  his  other  miseries.  He 
did  drink  too  much.  He  was  branded  a  drunk 
ard;  and  no  one  wanted  a  drunkard.  Vague 
ideas  of  beginning  again  in  a  new  land  floated 
through  his  mind.  The  life  was  out  of  him; 
and  when  life  has  gone  out  of  the  soul  in  this 
fashion,  the  Lord  of  Life  is  ever  waiting  to 
enter  and  take  possession.  Which  is  by  way  of 
introducing  Betsy-Barbara. 

We  have  taken  little  time  to  consider  Betsy- 
Barbara.  Let  us  view  her  now,  as  she  stands, 
dressed  in  a  blue  frock  for  dinner,  tapping  at 
Constance's  door.  Betsy-Barbara's  flesh  and 
spirit  were  twenty-four ;  her  heart  was  eighteen  ;• 
her  purpose  was  forty.  In  complexion,  in  such 
accessories  of  complexion  as  eyes  and  hair,  in 
the  hidden  soul,  she  was  a  white  creature,  light- 
shot.  Whenever  even  the  darkest  ray  touched 


96  THE  RED  BUTTON 

her  hair,  it  flickered  with  gold.  In  full  sun 
shine,  even  her  brows  and  lashes  glittered  and 
twinkled.  Her  mouth  was  large  and  gener 
ously  irregular;  her  nose  was  small  and  whim 
sically  irregular;  her  violet-blue  eyes  were  as 
clear  as  pools.  Why  the  regularity  of  a  Greek 
statue  may  go  with  absolute  ugliness,  and  why 
features  which  fail  to  match  may  produce  real 
beauty,  is  a  question  too  hard  for  you  or  me  or 
any  other  connoisseur  of  beauty.  Now  Betsy- 
Barbara,  with  a  mouth  all  too  large  and  a  nose 
all  too  small  and  a  pair  of  eyes  which  could  not 
be  classified  for  size,  was  ravishingly  pretty. 
Of  course,  expression  entered  into  the  equation 
with  Betsy-Barbara.  She  was  eternally  as 
suming  a  schoolmistress  sternness  which  made 
a  piquant  contrast  with  the  fresh  skin  of  her,  the 
blue  eyes  of  her,  the  little  pop-corn  teeth  that 
made  her  half  elf,  half  butterfly.  And  when, 
in  her  schoolmistress  solicitude  over  her  lis 
tener — as  over  a  bad  boy — she  laughed,  the 
world's  whole  merriment  was  in  her  laughter. 
Betsy-Barbara  had  not  really  laughed  for 
many  days  now.  But  she  was  young ;  the  tides 
of  life  were  flowing  back.  And  as  she  stood 
there,  waiting  for  Constance  to  rise  and  open 


TOMMY  NORTH  97 

the  door,  her  merriment  took  flame  from  some 
sleepy  remark.  In  that  precise  psychological 
moment,  all  planted  by  the  fates,  Tommy 
North  came  down  the  hall  on  his  way  to  dinner. 
The  laugh  arrested  him  dead.  The  gaslight 
was  on  her  hair  so  that  it  tumbled  over  her 
head — "like  a  heap  of  pulled  molasses  candy," 
he  told  himself.  The  door  opened  then.  She 
vanished  like  a  golden  fairy  caught  in  a  mist 
of  vapor. 

A  minute  later,  Tommy  North  was  sitting  in 
the  dining-room  at  Rosalie's  right — waiting  for 
something.  He  found  himself  in  a  state  of  em 
barrassment  uncommon  with  him.  What  was 
he  that  he  should  talk  to  a  decent  girl?  And 
would  she  know  that  he  was — the  branded? 
But  when,  a  moment  later,  she  trailed  in  behind 
Constance  like  a  luminous  shadow,  when  Rosa 
lie  introduced  them  both  by  name,  and  when  he 
recognized  them  as  the  women  in  the  Hanska 
affair,  one  part  of  his  embarrassment  floated 
away. 

Indeed,  Constance  herself  did  the  simply 
tactful  thing  by  referring  to  the  matter  at  once. 
The  other  boarders  had  not  yet  come;  they 
were  alone  with  Rosalie. 


98  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"I  am  so  glad,"  she  said,  "that  they  have  fi 
nally  let  you  off,  Mr.  North.  Nobody  could 
have  had  any  idea  that  you  were  guilty.  It 
must  have  been  a  horrible  experience."  She 
stopped,  and  her  eyes  fixed  on  something  across 
the  room.  "Horrible,"  she  repeated. 

"But  everybody's  going  to  get  off  easily,  just 
as  Mr.  North  did — you  wait!"  said  Betsy- 
Barbara,  touching  her  hand  with  a  consoling 
little  pat.  Now  the  others  were  come.  Miss 
Harding  acknowledged  Tommy's  presence 
with  a  lift  of  her  eyes  which  said:  "Well, 
you're  out  of  your  latest  scrape,  aren't  you?" 
Miss  Jones  was  plainly  thrilled  by  the  proxim 
ity  of  this  now  famous  personage;  Profes 
sor  Noll,  lost  in  the  metrical  mastication  of  a 
new  wheat-and-oats  compound  prepared  by 
Rosalie,  showed  plainly  his  ignorance  of  the 
fact  that  Mr.  North  had  been  away  at  all. 

What  they  thought  had  now  become  a  mat 
ter  of  entire  indifference  to  Tommy  North. 
The  rest  of  the  boarders  put  down  his  rapt 
silence  to  embarrassment  over  his  late  experi 
ence  ;  and  they  left  him  out  of  the  conversation. 
It  was  just  as  well.  When  Miss  Harding  re- 


TOMMY  NORTH  99 

marked,  "Wasn't  that  a  terrible  accident  up  in 
the  Bronx?"  he  would  have  answered,  had  he 
been  required  to  answer,  "They  are  just  the 
blue  of  periwinkles."  When  Professor  Noll 
said  in  his  heavy  and  formal  way,  "Yes,  indeed 
— oh,  yes,  indeed!"  he  would  have  said  that  the 
question — as  a  matter  of  fact  it  referred  to  the 
weather — had  run,  "Hasn't  she  a  wonderful 
mouth?"  Twice  he  laughed  uproariously, 
causing  Miss  Harding  to  remark  that  he  was 
getting  back  his  spirits,  anyhow.  This  was 
when  Betsy-Barbara  ventured  a  mild  joke. 
Twice  again  she  included  him  in  the  conversa 
tion.  Once  she  asked  for  the  butter,  which  im 
pelled  him  to  reach  frantically  for  the  salt,  and 
once  she  referred  to  him  the  question  whether 
one  could  reach  City  Hall,  Brooklyn,  sooner 
by  trolley  or  by  subway,  whereat  he  got  tem 
porary  reputation  as  a  joker  by  answering 
"both."  He  sat  dazed  through  the  soup,  ec 
static  through  the  roast,  and  rapt  through  the 
dessert.  Only  when  Betsy-Barbara  and  Con 
stance  rose  together,  did  he  remember  that  he 
had  finished  long  ago.  And  then  something 
happened  which  scattered  the  mists  about  him 


100  THE  RED  BUTTON 

and  brought  him  full  into  sunlight.  Betsy- 
Barbara  had  turned  at  the  door — turned  back 
to  him. 

"Mr.  North,"  she  said,  "would  it  be  possible 
for  me  to  speak  to  you  alone  this  evening? 
You  see,"  she  went  on  before  he  got  tongue  to 
reply,  "both  Mrs.  Hanska  and  I  are  working 
as  hard  as  we  can  on  this  case.  Mrs.  Hanska  is 
almost  prostrated  by  the  dreadfulness  of  it  all. 
I'm  trying  to  spare  her  as  much  as  possible.  I 
heard  you  testify,  of  course.  But  I  thought 
I'd  like  to  talk  to  you  myself.  Perhaps  there's 
something — some  tiny,  tiny  little  thing  that 
you'd  never  thought  of  before,  which  would 
make  all  the  difference  in  the  world.  It  might 
be  the  means  of  saving  Lawrence — Mr.  Wade 
— for,  of  course,  he's  innocent.  I  do  hope  you 
realize  that,  Mr.  North.  And  I  hope  you'll 
help  us  in  any  way  you  can." 

Now  as  to  Mr.  Wade,  Tommy  North  held 
his  own  theories — or  had  up  to  this  moment. 
Of  course  it  was  Wade.  In  his  lonely  and 
hysterical  apprehensions  at  the  Tombs,  he  had 
been  forced  to  nail  the  crime  to  some  other  sus 
pect  in  order  to  save  his  own  reason.  His  mind 
had  fastened  like  a  leech  on  Wade.  For  Mrs. 


TOMMY  NORTH  101 

Hanska  he  had  felt  vaguely  sorry,  especially 
after  his  one  sight  of  her.  But  this  blue-and- 
gold  elf  had  pronounced  edict.  To  Tommy 
North,  henceforth,  Lawrence  Wade  was  as 
innocent  as  the  traditional  babe  unborn. 

"Of  course  he  didn't  do  it,"  Tommy  asserted 
valiantly.  "I'll  help  all  I  can,  I'm  sure,"  he 
added.  Then  eagerly,  "Now?" 

"The  drawing-room  is  empty  if  you  want  to 
talk,"  said  Rosalie  from  the  door.  She  turned 
away  with  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  glint  in 
her  eye.  And  Tommy  sat  down  before  his 
inquisitor.  It  was  little  he  added  to  the  evi 
dence,  prolong  this  pleasant  Third  Degree  as 
he  might .  He  could  but  retell  the  story. 
Only  one  thing  he  evaded,  dodged,  eluded.  It 
was  his  condition  on  that  night.  And  suddenly 
Betsy-Barbara,  in  her  best  schoolmistress  man 
ner,  came  out  with  it. 

"Now  one  other  thing,"  she  said.  "I  beg 
your  pardon  for  being  so  personal,  but  weren't 
you  — a  little — a  little — "  She  floundered  for 
a  word,  and  suddenly  the  whole  face  of  her  be 
came  a  rose  petal.  "Only  slightly  I  mean,  of 
course — but  weren't  you?" 

"I  wasn't  a  'little'  or  even  'slightly,'  "  said 


102  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Tommy,  writhing  in  an  agony  of  shame,  "I 
was  entirely." 

For  a  second  time  that  day,  a  woman  looked 
on  him  with  eyes  of  rebuke.  Momentarily, 
Betsy-Barbara  left  the  main  track. 

"And  why  did  you  do  it?"  she  inquired. 
"Not  that  it's  my  business,  perhaps.  I  only 
wondered." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Tommy,  "I  just  kept 
on  drinking  until  this  was  all  my  world.  I 
guess,"  he  added  suddenly,  "there  was  nothing 
else  to  do."  This  came  to  him  as  a  bright  and 
perfect  answer.  He  was  totally  unconscious 
that  he  had  quoted  Rosalie  Le  Grange. 

Betsy-Barbara  smiled  and  wagged  her  head, 
so  that  the  shaft  of  golden  light  across  her  hair 
shifted  from  left  to  right  and  from  right  to 
left. 

"In  New  York?"  she  said.  "Nothing  else 
in  New  York?" 

Unaccountably  Tommy  North's  tongue  un 
locked  itself,  what  with  the  necessity  of  de 
fending  himself;  and  he  talked. 

"Well,  that's  all  a  woman  knows  about  it.  I 
can't  spend  my  time  riding  on  the  Rubberneck 
Wagon,  can  I?  When  the  whistle  blows,  a 


TOMMY  NORTH  103 

man  feels  like  doing  something.  I  don't  al 
ways  want  to  feed  in  a  joint  like  this.  Some 
times  I  want  to  get  some  fancy  eats.  So  I 
percolate  through  Lobster  Lane — " 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Betsy-Barbara,  "what  a 
quaint  name !" 

"I  mean  Broadway,"  explained  Tommy. 
"Well,  I  get  a  cocktail  or  two  or  maybe  three, 
according  to  whom  I  meet.  Then  I  eat — and 
drink — and  when  we  beat  it  out  on  to  Benzine 
Byway — " 

"What  a  weird  name!"  commented  Betsy- 
Barbara. 

"Broadway  again,"  said  Tommy  North, 
pausing  only  an  instant.  "And  by  that  time, 
it's  all  lighted  up — and  my  friends  are  all 
lighted  up — and  I'm  all  lighted  up,  and  we 
proceed  down  the  Twinkling  Trail — " 

"Broadway,  I  suppose,"  interpolated  Betsy- 
Barbara. 

"Yes,"  said  Tommy,  "the  Riotous  Route  is 
another  of  its  aliases.  And  the  first  thing  I 
know  it's  two-thirty  A.  M.  and  I'm  in  my  room 
admiring  my  own  imitation  of  a  young  gentle 
man  of  Gotham  going  to  bed,  a  knock-about 
act  seldom  equaled  on  any  stage.  But  you 


104  THE  RED  BUTTON 

needn't  deliver  that  James  B.  Gough  oration  I 
see  trembling  on  your  lips.  I  don't  need  it. 
I've  got  mine  all  right.  I've  lost  my  job  to 
day  on  account  of  being  'entirely.' ' 

To  Betsy-Barbara,  herself  engaged  in  the 
economic  struggle,  this  fact  seemed  more  im 
portant  than  to  Tommy. 

"You  have?"  she  exclaimed.  "Oh,  I'm  so 
sorry!  I've  given  up  my  position  in  Arden 
in  order  to  be  with  Constance  and  I  don't 
know  how  I  shall  live  after  three  months. 
But  something  will  turn  up,  I'm  sure.  Had 
you  held  your  place  long?" 

"Six  months  or  so,"  replied  Tommy. 
"That's  all  right.  I  can  find  another  I  guess 
— or  could  if  this  hadn't  got  into  the  papers." 

"Well,  I'm  awfully  sorry,"  said  Betsy-Bar 
bara,  rising,  "but  such  wonderful  things  hap 
pen  to  people  in  New  York.  Everybody's 
a  Dick  Whittington  here.  Only  if  I  were 
you  I  wouldn't — "  She  paused  and  looked  at 
him  very  seriously. 

"No,"  replied  Tommy,  docilely,  "I  won't." 
And  his  heart  added,  "Not  while  you're 
around."  But  his  lips — "Remember,  if  there 
is  anything  I  can  do." 


TOMMY  NORTH  105 

"Oh,  thank  you!"  replied  Betsy-Barbara; 
"goodnight!" 

At  the  door  of  the  dining-room  next  morn 
ing,  Rosalie  Le  Grange  met  Mr.  North. 

"Thought  my  proposition  over?"  she  asked. 

"Yes.  I  guess  I'll  stay,"  replied  Tommy, 
shortly. 

"Thought  you  would,"  replied  Rosalie. 
And  as  she  entered  before  him,  she  was  smiling 
into  the  air.  Decidedly,  she  was  enriching  her 
life  in  these  days  with  vicarious  troubles,  but 
also  with  vicarious  joys. 


CHAPTER  VI 

TWIN    STABS 

A  NOTHER  week  has  passed,  and  the  po- 
xV  lice  still  report  "no  progress"  on  the 
Wade-Hanska  murder  case,  now  a  back  num 
ber  with  the  newspapers — a  story  laid  aside. 
Wade,  scorning,  he  says,  all  lawyer-tricks, 
waits  in  the  Tombs  until  the  police  shall  have 
finished  and  turned  the  matter  over  to  the 
mercies  of  the  Grand  Jury.  The  week  has 
been  equally  quiet  at  the  select  boarding-house 
maintained  by  Rosalie  Le  Grange — a  quiet 
overlain  with  gloom  and  yet  illuminated  with 
human  sympathy  and  even  gaiety.  Gradually 
the  household  has  become  a  body  of  Wade 
partisans.  That,  although  they  know  it  not, 
is  due  to  Constance.  Her  somber  sweetness, 
which  persisted  even  in  her  desperate  situa 
tion,  has  moved  them;  and  emotion  has  per 
suaded  reason  and  opinion,  as  it  always  will 
until  we  become  intellectual  machines. 

106 


TWIN  STARS  107 

Out  of  the  shadows  twinkle  two  stars — 
Betsy-Barbara  and  Tommy  North.  Rosalie 
in  jest,  and  Professor  Noll  in  earnest,  call 
Betsy-Barbara  "the  little  household  fairy." 
Engaged  though  she  is  in  a  tragic  guardian 
ship,  she  is  also  young  and  sprightly  and  a 
village  girl  fresh  to  the  wonder  of  New  York. 
Rosalie  is  the  quiet  force,  but  Betsy-Barbara 
the  visible  focus,  which  draws  them  all  together. 
She  brings  to  their  consideration  of  Manhattan 
all  the  small-town  intimacy  of  interest.  She 
brings  to  their  intercourse  the  country  habit 
of  asking  help,  and  accepting  kindness,  as  a 
matter  of  course.  She  asks  counsel  of  Miss 
Harding  and  Miss  Jones  on  her  autumn 
clothes.  In  her  spare  moments  she  sews  in 
dustriously  with  Rosalie  Le  Grange — drop 
ping  meantime  those  confidences  which  flow 
at  sewing-bees.  The  orphan  of  a  country 
clergyman  and  a  schoolmistress,  she  has  at  her 
finger-tips  all  the  arts  of  play.  Whenever 
the  household  stays  in  of  nights,  she  gathers 
them  together  over  hearts  or  bridge;  when 
cards  grow  stale,  she  is  capable  of  getting  con 
tagious  fun  out  of  charades  or  anagrams.  She 
even  starts  experimenting  with  table-tipping 


108  THE  RED  BUTTON 

— and  wonders  vaguely  why  Rosalie  Le 
Grange  seems  uninterested  in  that  one  of  their 
sports  alone  and  manages  to  break  it  up  on 
the  first  excuse. 

As  for  Tommy  North,  he — assists.  He  is 
jester-in-chief  to  this  elfin  princess.  Also,  he 
makes  the  Welsh  rabbits  with  which,  at  her 
suggestion,  they  finish  off  the  card-parties. 

"I  appoint  myself  all-night  chef  to  this  es 
tablishment,"  said  Tommy  North,  as  he  rolled 
up  his  sleeves  on  the  first  evening.  "Is  it 
possible  that  there  is  a  hamlet  in  this  happy 
country  so  remote  that  the  fame  of  my  Welsh 
rabbits  has  not  reached  it?  I  learned  through 
toil  and  suffering — other  people's.  The  first 
one  I  made  is  still  hanging  on  the  wall  of  the 
old  farmhouse.  After  that,  an  automobile- 
man  saw  one  of  'em.  Great  excitement !  He 
thought  the  problem  of  the  rubber  substitute 
was  solved.  But  he  little  recked.  The  tires 
they  made  of  'em  were  all  right  as  long  as 
the  auto  kept  running.  But  when  it  stopped 
out  in  the  country,  the  field-mice  used  to  come 
in  flocks  and  risk  their  lives  to  nibble  those 
tires.  No  chemical  combination  they  could 
ever  discover  made  my  Welsh-rabbit  tires  dis- 


TWIN  STARS  109 

tasteful  to  the  little  creatures.  I  kept  on  with 
my  art,  till  now — I'm  too  modest  to  show  you 
the  letter  I  got  from  the  St.  Regis  the  other 
day." 

More  and  more  the  boarders  take  to  staying 
at  home.  This  charming  life  domestic  is  a 
novelty  in  New  York,  it  seems;  they  revel  in 
the  fad.  Professor  Noll  enters  into  every 
thing  with  the  simple  gaiety  of  a  child.  The 
two  stenographers  go  out  of  evenings  but  rarely 
now.  Their  young  men  (Messrs.  Dayne  and 
Murphy)  entreat  Rosalie  daily  to  furnish  the 
attic  rooms  for  them.  "Your  waiting-list  is 
going  to  make  the  Metropolitan  Club  look  like 
the  Ludlow  Street  jail,"  remarks  Tommy 
North. 

Mr.  Estrilla  has  developed  a  way  of  joining 
them  after  his  evening  visits  to  his  sister;  and 
he  brings  such  a  spirit  of  Latin  gaiety  that  they 
quit  their  formal  games,  and  take  always  to 
music  and  conversation  when  he  enters.  Ro 
salie  especially  delights  in  him.  He  has  a 
quick  turn  of  the  tongue  which  matches  her 
own;  and  they  fence  with  good-natured  rep 
artee.  Whenever  Estrilla  enters  the  room 
his  eyes  travel  to  Betsy-Barbara  and  they  two 


110  THE  RED  BUTTON 

play  in  a  boy-and-giii  spirit  very  charming 
and  amusing — to  every  one  but  Tommy  North. 
All  speak  well  of  Estrilla.  "I  guess  he's  a 
regular  man  all  right,  if  he  is  a  wop,"  says 
even  Tommy. 

Through  all  the  sprightly  atmosphere  Con 
stance  drifts,  a  figure  quiet  and  dignified  and 
beautiful  and  gentle — "the  tragic  Venus." 
Generally,  she  joins  the  parties  in  the  Le 
Grange  parlor.  Betsy-Barbara  sees  to  that. 
Acceding  to  every  desire,  making  no  sugges 
tions  of  her  own,  asking  nothing — she  is  slip 
ping  visibly  toward  melancholy.  Days  come 
when  she  smiles  a  little,  when  faint  stars  gleam 
in  her  great  eyes;  then  Betsy-Barbara  knows, 
and  the  rest  conjecture,  that  some  will-o'-the- 
wisp  clue  has  lifted  her  to  a  little  hope.  Nights 
come  when  midway  in  the  game  her  eyes  lose 
their  hold  on  tangible  things  and  fix  on  some 
vision  mid-air;  then  Betsy-Barbara  knows,  and 
the  rest  conjecture,  that  she  has  been  visiting 
the  Tombs.  They  set  themselves  to  exorcise 
her  demon,  each  after  his  own  fashion.  Bet 
sy-Barbara  is  sweetly  cajoling,  Rosalie  subtly 
encouraging,  Miss  Harding  heavy-handed  but 


TWIN  STARS  111 

contagious,  Tommy  North  jocular,  Professor 
Noll  fatherly — but  all  are  kind. 

Miss  Estrilla  alone  never  joins  the  group 
down-stairs.  Though  her  eyes  are  better, 
though  she  can  bear  some  light,  she  shows  a 
state  of  debility  puzzling  to  her  physician  and 
alarming  to  her  watcher  and  attendant,  Ro 
salie  Le  Grange.  The  doctor  advises  her  to 
return  to  a  warmer  climate  before  the  New 
York  winter  sets  in — like  all  transplanted  Lat 
ins,  she  is  a  very  shivery  person.  She  an 
swers  that  she  can  not;  her  brother's  business 
lies  in  New  York,  and  she  would  be  unhappy 
away  from  him.  Once,  Rosalie  Le  Grange 
suggests  a  hospital;  whereupon  Miss  Estrilla 
weeps  and  begs  to  remain.  Go  she  will  not, 
though  Rosalie  once  discovers  Estrilla  arguing 
the  question  with  her  in  his  perfect  English 
with  its  pleasant  Spanish  roll. 

The  time  came  when  Rosalie  Le  Grange  de 
termined  to  visit  Inspector  McGee ;  she  wished 
to  unload  some  theories  of  her  own  concerning 
the  Hanska  case.  Such  visits  must  be  made 
with  all  due  precaution  of  secrecy.  She  chose 


112  THE  RED  BUTTON 

an  evening  when,  as  happened  seldom  nowa 
days,  nearly  all  the  boarders  had  engagements 
elsewhere.  Mr.  Murphy  and  Mr.  Dayne  had 
i'nvited  the  "girls"  to  the  theater;  Mr.  North 
was  to  dine  with  a  man  who  might  give  him  a 
job.  As  a  step  preliminary  to  her  diploma 
cies,  she  telephoned  to  McGee  and  made  with 
him  an  appointment  far  from  the  office.  Then 
she  approached  Betsy-Barbara. 

"It's  asking  a  lot  of  you,  my  dear,"  she 
said,  "but  I've  been  so  busy  gettin'  this  place 
shook  together  that  I  haven't  had  time  to  mind 
my  own  affairs.  I've  a  cousin  in  town  an'  I 
jest  haven't  had  time  to  pay  her  any  atten 
tion.  It's  been  simply  scandalous  the  way  I've 
neglected  her.  Miss  Estrilla  is  kind  of  nerv 
ous  to-night,  an'  I  hate  to  leave  her  alone  until 
her  brother  comes — anyhow,  he  misses  some 
evenings.  Just  sit  by  her — an'  if  he  shows  up 
you  don't  have  to  do  even  that.  Goodness 
knows,  I  wish  I'd  got  her  a  nurse  at  the  start 
instead  of  tryin'  to  boss  the  thing  myself." 

Betsy-Barbara  accepted  the  new  responsibil- 
ity. 

"I'd  love  it,"  she  said  almost  cheerfully. 
"Constance  is  going  to  try  to  get  some  sleep 


TWIN  STARS  113 

to-night,  and  I'll  put  her  to  bed  right  after 
dinner.  And  I've  been  dying  to  meet  Miss 
Estrilla." 

Miss  Estrilla's  appearance  appealed  at  once 
to  Betsy-Barbara's  quick  sympathies.  Her 
eyes  were  shaded;  further  she  wore  heavy  col 
ored  glasses.  She  was  a  rather  tall  and  slender 
woman,  Betsy-Barbara  decided.  Her  face, 
bold  in  the  bony  structure,  seemed  hawk-like 
with  the  wasting  of  illness.  There  was  a  kind 
of  exquisite  shyness  about  her  which  blended 
perfectly  with  a  punctilious  Spanish  courtesy. 
She  was  Spanish  in  manner  alone,  however. 
She  spoke  English  without  a  trace  of  her 
brother's  amusing  roll. 

Betsy-Barbara,  when  the  ice  was  broken, 
chattered  girl-fashion  on  the  events  of  the  day 
in  the  boarding-house,  avoiding  always  the  sub 
ject  of  the  tragedy  which  had  drawn  them 
together.  Miss  Estrilla,  though  she  listened 
with  interest,  did  not  avail  herself  of  openings 
to  respond  with  chatter  of  her  own.  Betsy- 
Barbara  was  running  down,  when  she  be 
thought  herself  of  a  new  resource. 

"I've  brought  up  the  evening  paper,"  she 
said,  "wouldn't  you  like  to  have  me  read  it  to 


114  THE  RED  BUTTON 

you?  There's  a  splendid  elopement  in  high 
life." 

"I  should  like  it  very  much/*  replied  Miss 
Estrilla,  after  a  pause  at  which  Betsy -Barbara 
wondered. 

"I'm  just  crazy  about  the  New  York  pa 
pers,"  resumed  Betsy-Barbara,  as  she  perched 
herself  on  a  table  to  get  at  the  dim  point  of 
light.  "The  Arabian  Nights  things  that  hap 
pen  in  this  town  will  drive  me  crazy  yet.  Wait 
just  a  minute.  I  must  see  if  they've  found 
the  Hollister  baby.  I'm  nearly  dead  over 
her!" 

Curiosity  satisfied,  Betsy-Barbara  read  the 
head-lines  and  rendered  in  full  the  stories  which 
Miss  Estrilla  indicated.  She  was  absorbed  in 
the  account  of  a  splendid  burglary,  when  a 
knock  sounded  at  the  door.  And  Estrilla  en 
tered. 

As  he  recognized  her  with  a  bow  of  inim 
itable  attention  and  courtesy,  as  he  crossed  the 
room  and  tenderly  kissed  his  sister,  Betsy- 
Barbara  had,  somehow,  the  feeling  that  she  was 
meeting  a  stranger.  For  the  first  time,  at  any 
rate,  she  expressed  him  to  herself.  "Hand 
some"  was  her  first  mental  comment.  That 


TWIN  STARS  115 

marked  against  him  in  her  books.  She  dis 
trusted  the  handsome  male.  A  man,  accord 
ing  to  Betsy-Barbara's  perfectly  clean-cut  set 
of  opinions,  should  be  like  a  bull-terrier — ugly, 
a  little  rough  and  awkward,  faithful,  kind. 
"But  nice  in  spite  of  it,"  was  her  second 
thought.  She  formulated  another  thing  about 
him  in  the  minute  while  she  watched.  His 
quality  was — caressing — that  was  the  word. 
The  glances  of  his  eye,  the  attitude  of  his  body, 
the  gestures  of  his  hands,  all  reminded  one  of 
a  love-tap. 

Betsy-Barbara  took  in  other  details  as  he 
faced  about  and  addressed  her.  He  was  small 
— but  she  had  always  noticed  that  obvious  fact. 
Looking  at  the  figure  on  the  bed,  one  would 
have  called  the  sister  the  taller  of  the  two. 
He  was  nevertheless  perfectly  formed.  He 
had  a  plume  of  black  hair  which  glimmered  in 
the  gaslight  with  a  dusky  reflection  of  Betsy- 
Barbara's  native  gold-and-satin  turban. 

"I  have  been  taking  care  of  your  sister,  you 
see,"  said  Betsy-Barbara. 

"Ah!  Then  what  need  of  me?"  replied  Es- 
trilia. 

"She  has  been  kind  enough  to  read  me  the 


116  THE  RED  BUTTON 

newspapers,"  rolled  the  rich  contralto  of  the 
invalid  from  the  bed. 

"I  think  you  and  your  sister  are  wonder 
fully  alike — and  yet  wonderfully  different," 
said  Betsy-Barbara,  carefully  ignoring  the  per 
sonal  note  in  Estrilla's  remark. 

"The  resemblance  is  a  compliment  to  me — 
the  difference  what  you  call — a  slam,"  replied 
Estrilla. 

"I — I  must  be  going  now,"  said  Betsy-Bar 
bara  in  her  best  schoolmistress  manner. 

"I  beg  you  not  to  deprive  us  of  yourself  so 
soon,"  replied  Estrilla,  and,  "Please  stay,"  ech 
oed  his  sister. 

Betsy-Barbara  remembered  what  she  had 
heard  of  Spanish  politeness — its  over-elabora 
tion  and  over-insistence.  But  her  Anglo- 
Saxon  mind  could  discover  no  way  to  parry 
with  equal  politeness.  Also  she  told  herself 
that  when  one  has  dwelt  too  long  with  tragedy, 
one  wants  to  be  amused.  She  sat  for  five  min 
utes,  while  brother  and  sister  made  her  the  fo 
cus  of  their  conversation.  But  she  was  riot 
amused.  In  the  presence  of  his  sister,  Estrilla 
appeared  a  different  man  from  the  light  fencer 
with  words  of  their  evenings  down-stairs.  He 


TWIN  STARS  117 

was  grave;  he  was  formal.  Infinitely  tender 
toward  Miss  Estrilla,  he  was  also  attentive 
toward  Betsy-Barbara,  but  he  did  not  play 
with  her  as  usual.  It  was  puzzling,  but  a  little 
fascinating,  this  change. 

In  five  minutes  more,  Betsy-Barbara  sum 
moned  tact  to  the  aid  of  manners  and  maiden 
modesty.  She  invented  an  excuse  to  shield 
herself  against  Spanish  politeness,  and  left  Es 
trilla  bowing  gravely  at  the  threshold. 

Betsy-Barbara  thought  first  of  her  responsi 
bility.  Silently  she  opened  Constance's  door 
and  tiptoed  to  the  bed.  Her  Lady  of  Troubles 
was  asleep.  By  the  night  lamp  which  Con 
stance  kept  burning  against  the  demons  of 
her  night  thoughts,  Betsy-Barbara  noted  the 
growth  of  lines  in  the  relaxed  face.  She  sighed 
and  crept  back  into  the  hall.  There  she  hesi 
tated  a  moment.  The  house  seemed  deserted. 
It  was  too  late  for  venturing  forth  alone ;  yet, 
somehow,  she  must  exorcise  the  vague  black 
visions  which  began  to  surround  her — she  who 
must  keep  courage  for  two.  Also,  something 
which  she  could  not  analyze  was  stirring  dis 
quiet  in  her  soul. 

"If  I  only  had  some  work!"  she  said  to  her- 


118  THE  RED  BUTTON 

self,  and  sighed  again.  So  meditating,  she 
wandered  aimlessly  down-stairs.  The  doors 
of  the  parlor  were  open ;  the  lights  were  on ;  the 
baby-grand  piano  stood  open,  inviting. 

"Only  merry  tunes,  though,"  she  warned 
herself  as  she  sat  down.  And  she  started  the 
liviliest  jig  she  knew.  Presently,  she  began  to 
sing  in  her  pleasant  untrained  voice,  which 
wobbled  entrancingly  whenever  she  got  out  of 
the  middle  register.  But  music  is  the  slave  of 
moods.  And  before  she  was  aware,  her  voice 
was  following  the  strings  in  old  and  melancholy 
love-songs.  Now  it  was  Loch  Lomond — 

"By  yon  bonnie  banks, 
And  by  yon  bonnie  braes, 
Where  the  sun  shines  bright  on  Loch  Lo 
mond — " 

At  this  point,  Betsy-Barbara  dropped  her 
hands  from  the  keys,  and  the  music  stopped 
abruptly.  She  was  just  aware  that  a  fine 
floating  tenor  had  been  humming  the  part  from 
the  doorway.  Senor  Estrilla  stood  looking 
down  on  her. 

"My  seester  has  gone  to  sleep,"  he  said. 
And  then,  "That  is  a  Scotch  song,  is  it  not? 


TWIN  STARS  119 

Please  go  on."  Betsy-Barbara  smiled,  nod 
ded,  resumed  her  keys;  and  they  sang  to 
gether — 

"Where  me  and  my  true  love 
Were  ever  wont  to  gae 
On  the  bonnie,  bonnie  banks  of  Loch  Lo 
mond." 

When  the  song  was  finished,  Estrilla  leaned 
on  the  piano  and  looked  down  at  Betsy-Bar 
bara.  His  mood  seemingly  had  changed;  it 
was  his  whim  to  talk. 

"They  are  a  little  cold  on  the  surface,  those 
Scotch  love-songs,"  he  said,  "though  warm  be 
neath,  like  a  volcano.  Now  we  who  speak 
Spanish — we  can  throw  our  emotions  to  the 
surface." 

"Don't  you  think,"  responded  Betsy-Bar 
bara,  "that  to  conceal  it — but  to  show  it's 
there — is  the  more  wonderful  way  after  all?" 

The  blood  of  the  MacGregors  in  Betsy- 
Barbara  was  calling  her  to  the  defense  of  her 
own. 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  any  of  our  Span 
ish  songs?"  pursued  Estrilla. 

"Only  Juanita,  I  think — and  La  Paloma." 


120  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Estrilla  looked  as  though  he  might  have 
laughed  but  for  Spanish  politeness. 

"Those  are  Spanish  for  outside  consump 
tion,  as  when  the  English  call  your  cheap — oil 
cloth  is  it  not — 'American  cloth.'  Let  me  sing 
to  you — but  a  Spanish  song  does  not  go  well 
with  the  piano — " 

"There's  a  guitar  over  in  the  alcove,"  an 
nounced  Betsy-Barbara. 

"Far-seeing  maiden!"  exclaimed  Estrilla 
with  such  a  delicious  Spanish  roll  on  the  vowels 
that  Betsy-Barbara  laughed  a  little;  and  he, 
as  though  understanding,  laughed  with  her. 

So  he  tuned  the  guitar,  Betsy-Barbara  find 
ing  the  key  for  him  on  the  piano.  And  while 
he  tweaked  the  strings,  he  made  comment  on 
them,  as: 

"This — you  hear — is  the  angel-string.  It  is 
for  celestial  harmonies.  One  can  not  go  wrong 
on  this  string;  but  it  is  too  fine  and  high  to 
make  all  our  music.  This  is  the  man-string. 
You  can  go  very  right  or  very  wrong  on  this 
one."  "Thees  one,"  he  pronounced  it;  and  he 
drew  out  the  vowels  as  though  lingering  on 
the  thought.  "This  is  the  woman-string.  Lis 
ten — how  discordant  now!  I  tune  it  to  the 


TWIN  STARS  121 

man-string,  for  I  am  God  of  this  little  world 
— and  now  how  beautiful!" 

"You  are  talking  poetry!"  said  Betsy-Bar 
bara;  and  thought  of  the  phrase  as  somewhat 
awkward. 

"Ah,  but  I  am  inspired!"  replied  Estrilla. 

("He  surely  doesn't  mean  me,"  thought  Bet 
sy-Barbara,  "that  would  be  too  delicious!" 
However,  he  was  looking  not  at  her  but  at  the 
guitar. ) 

"Listen!"  he  resumed,  giving  the  strings  one 
final  caressing  stroke.  And  in  his  light  float 
ing  tenor,  he  began : 

"Alma  pur  a  de  luz  y  allegria — " 

"What  does  it  mean?"  asked  Betsy-Bar 
bara  when  he  had  finished. 

He  translated: 

"  'White  spirit  of  joy  and  light — if  the 
clouds  should  cross  you — it  is  I  who  would  blow 
them  away  with  the  wind  of  my  love — I,  Chol- 
ita  mia!' — That  Cholita  mm  I  can  not  translate. 
You  have  nothing  in  English  which  carries  so 
much  endearment,"  he  added. 

Betsy-Barbara,  her  golden  head  on  one  side, 
meditated  his  words. 


122  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"It's  pretty — very  pretty.  But  has  it  the 
deep  feeling  of  ours?"  Although  Betsy-Bar 
bara  taught  English  literature  and  composition 
to  the  middle  class  of  Arden  Seminary,  she 
floundered  a  little  in  this  attempt  at  literary 
criticism.  "Now  this  for  example."  She  fled 
to  song  for  expression,  and  began : 

"Ye  banks  an'  braes — " 

"Tender,"  he  admitted,  "but  gloomy.  And 
why  should  there  be  gloom  in  expressing  love? 
You  do  not  know  our  depth  of  passion.  We 
live  our  passion  and  our  gloom — and  when  we 
sing  we  make  our  thought  tender  so  that  we 
may  forget.  Listen!"  Now  he  struck  a 
deeper  key: 

"Perro  al  abrirse  la  rosa — " 

"I  have  made  that  into  English  verse,"  he 
concluded — 

"But  the  rose  unfolds  in  the  dawning 
At  the  touch  of  the  sun  and  the  dew, 
And  the  sun  and  the  rain  and  the  summer  of 

life, 
Is  the  touch  and  the  thought  of  you." 


TWIN  STARS  123 

"You  are  really  a  poet!"  exclaimed  Betsy- 
Barbara.  She  was  about  to  say  more;  but  his 
eyes  rested  upon  her  as  he  started  another 
song: 

"Angel  divino  que  tu  es!" 

"That,"  he  concluded,  "is  in  praise  of  the 
mantilla  blanca.  The  song  is  old  and  the  cus 
tom  nearly  dead.  Now  and  then  we  have  a 
woman  colored  not  like  the  rest  of  us — dark 
— but  white  and  gold  like  the  angels.  In  some 
countries  she  had  the  privilege  of  wearing  a 
white  mantilla ;  and  wherever  she  went,  she  was 
a  queen.  This  is  how  it  runs :  'A  divine  angel 
wore  thee,  white  mantilla.  The  warp  was 
goodness  and  the  woof  beauty.  Thy  bosom  is 
the  white  rose,  thine  eye  the  blue  heaven,  and 
thy  soul  the  void  above  heaven.' ' 

He  strummed  little  shimmering  chords  as 
he  spoke.  He  fell  to  silence,  but  still  the  lan 
guorous  music  quivered  from  the  guitar.  Bet 
sy-Barbara  turned  about  on  the  piano-stool, 
her  hands  folded  lightly  in  her  lap,  her  eyes 
cast  down.  He  was  speaking  again;  and  this 
time  it  was  not  what  he  said  which  moved  and 
disturbed  her — it  was  his  tone. 


124  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Mantilla  blanca!"  he  was  saying  over  and 
over  again ;  "mantilla  blanca!" 

It  was  many  years  before  Betsy-Barbara, 
looking  back  over  everything,  could  analyze 
the  feeling  of  that  moment,  could  put  it  in  its 
true  relation  to  herself  and  her  life.  At  the 
time,  she  knew  only  that  she  sat  there  impas 
sive,  embarrassed,  but  inert,  that  she  felt 
shame  yet  also  a  furtive  pleasure  at  the  steady 
look  of  those  caressing  eyes.  It  lasted  only  a 
moment. 

The  outer  door  slammed  violently. 

Betsy-Barbara  started  as  though  caught  in 
something  guilty.  She  hesitated  a  moment 
for  fear  of  showing  her  feelings  to  Estrilla. 
Then  she  walked  out  into  the  hall.  There  was 
no  one  in  sight.  That  seemed  curious,  since 
the  hall  stairs  were  not  carpeted,  and  one  could 
hear  footsteps.  It  was  as  though  some  one  had 
opened  the  front  door  and  then  quickly  closed 
it  again  without  entering.  When  she  turned 
back,  puzzled,  she  felt  the  necessity  for  expla 
nation. 

"I  thought  it  might  be  Miss  Harding,"  she 
said,  falsely — "I  wanted  to  see  her." 

He  only  smiled  the  same  caressing  smile. 


TWIN  STARS  125 

But  the  spell  was  cracked ;  and  Betsy-Barbara 
herself  completed  the  break. 

''Well,  anyway,"  she  said,  pulling  herself 
together,  "the  Spanish  have  no  martial  music 
like  ours."  And  she  struck  up  Scots  Wha 
Hae\  Nor  did  music  and  conversation  turn 
again  to  love-songs.  In  fact,  half  an  hour 
later  Betsy-Barbara  winged  a  hint,  which  he 
caught  mid-course,  as  he  seemed  to  catch  every 
delicate  shaft  of  meaning.  He  rose  and  bade 
her  a  formal  good  night.  "I  hope  I  may  sing 
with  you  again,"  he  said  at  parting. 

Betsy-Barbara  went  to  her  own  room.  She 
dawdled  over  her  preparations  for  undressing, 
making  a  dozen  starts  and  stops.  She  was  not 
sleepy;  a  hundred  currents  of  thought  were 
crossing  and  recrossing  in  her  mind.  So  at 
last  she  threw  a  kimono  over  her  evening  gown 
and  sat  down  at  the  window,  maiden-fashion, 
and  thought. 

To  make  no  further  mystery,  the  person  who 
opened  the  front  door  and  disturbed  the  tete- 
a-tete  between  Estrilla  and  Betsy-Barbara,  was 
only  Tommy  North.  He  had  been  searching 
strenuously  for  a  job.  No  mystery  about  that, 


126  THE  RED  BUTTON 

either.  The  reason  was  Betsy-Barbara.  The 
night's  quest  had  failed.  The  fluid  mercury 
of  his  disposition  had  fallen  almost  to  absolute 
zero.  In  this  mood,  he  unlocked  the  front 
door.  The  parlor  was  open ;  he  heard  the  soft 
thrum  of  a  guitar.  Hungry  for  companion 
ship,  he  crossed  the  thick  hall  carpet  to  the  par 
lor  door.  He  looked  in  and  beheld  Betsy-Bar 
bara  sitting  with  flushed  cheeks  and  folded 
hands.  It  was  the  attitude  of  a  woman  who 
yields.  Beside  her  sat  the  Estrilla  person, 
strumming  gently  on  a  guitar  and  looking  a 
million  languors.  With  a  movement  that  was 
an  explosion,  Tommy  rushed  out,  slamming  the 
front  door  behind  him. 

His  feet,  rather  than  his  will,  carried  him 
away.  There  was  a  saloon  at  the  corner.  As 
by  instinct,  Tommy  rushed  into  it  and  ordered 
a  glass  of  whisky — his  first  since  the  night  of 
the  Hanska  murder.  He  shivered  slightly 
when  he  drank  it,  as  he  always  did  at  the  new 
taste  of  raw  whisky.  A  cab-driver  whom  he 
knew  rose  up  from  the  corne1*  »nd  greeted  him 
respectfully.  Tommy  invited  him  to  have  a 
drink.  The  cab-driver  introduced  him  to  the 
bartender.  Tommy  invited  them  both  to  have 


TWIN  STARS  127 

another  drink.  The  bartender  introduced  a 
paper-hanger.  Tommy  included  him  in  a 
fourth  drink.  The  bartender  asked  them  to 
have  one  on  the  house.  By  this  time,  all  was 
over  with  Tommy  North's  sobriety.  In  a 
period  incredibly  short,  he  fulfilled  the  tragic 
purpose  for  which  he  left  the  boarding-house. 

Now  nearly  every  drunkard — and  especially 
an  amateur  like  Mr.  Thomas  North — has  one 
latent  peculiarity  which  comes  out  with  intoxi 
cation.  His  was  the  homing  instinct.  He  al 
ways  sought  his  own  bed  when  drunk,  no  mat 
ter  how  embarrassing  the  circumstances  might 
be.  An  hour  and  a  half  after  he  stood  treat 
to  the  cabman,  Tommy  North,  muttering  over 
and  over  to  himself,  "New  life  in  new  clime — 
wond'ful  plan  of  genius — "  was  weaving  to 
ward  the  select  boarding-house  of  Madame 
Rosalie  Le  Grange.  Laboriously  he  unlocked 
the  door;  painfully,  and  with  occasional  mut- 
terings  about  a  blasted  life,  he  reached  the  first 
landing.  And  on  that  landing  a  door  opened. 
Betsy-Barbara  stood  looking  at  him. 

Yet  curiously,  as  the  gaslight  caught  her 
full,  it  was  not  upon  Betsy-Barbara's  shocked 
wide-open  eyes  that  he  fixed  his  gaze.  He 


128  THE  RED  BUTTON 

looked  at  her  feet.  Betsy-Barbara  was  wear 
ing  high-heeled  velvet  shoes  with  paste  buckles. 
In  the  full  light,  they  sparkled  like  real  dia 
monds.  Betsy-Barbara  stepped  back  with 
woman's  instinctive  fear  of  a  drunken  man. 
So  one  of  those  slippers  moved.  Tommy,  his 
eyes  still  toward  the  ground,  clutched  at  it. 
The  motion  almost  tumbled  him  over — did 
make  him  reel  against  the  door-post. 

"Get  it  an'  hold  it,"  he  said— "then  dis 
cover  murder." 

"Mr.  North — Mr. "North!"  exclaimed  Betsy- 
Barbara  and  stood  helpless,  staring  at  this 
weird  performance.  His  mind  seemed  to 
shift;  he  became  aware  of  her  as  a  person;  and 
he  struggled  for  articulation. 

"Drunk!"  he  said.  "Final  disgrace — every 
thing  gone  now !" 

"Mr.  North,"  said  Betsy-Barbara,  gathering 
her  courage,  "listen  to  me.  If  you  wake  people 
up  to-night,  they'll  never  forgive  you.  Now 
I'm  going  to  lead  you  to  your  room.  But  you 
are  to  be  perfectly  silent.  Do  you  under 
stand?" 

"I  promise,"  said  Tommy.  "There!  I  spoke 
an'  broke  promise.  Vista  shattered  promises." 


TWIN  STARS  129 

"No,  you  didn't,  but  you  will  if  you  speak 
again." 

Tommy  solemnly  closed  his  mouth  with  fin 
ger  and  thumb.  She  caught  him  under  the 
arm  as  though  to  support  him.  He  waved  her 
away  and  started  to  make  his  own  course  up  the 
stairs.  Betsy-Barbara  followed,  her  hands  ex 
tended  to  give  help  in  case  of  need.  Though 
he  sought  aid  of  the  banisters  here  and  there, 
he  navigated  very  well.  At  his  own  landing, 
Betsy-Barbara  ran  ahead,  opened  his  door, 
switched  on  the  electric  light.  Then  return 
ing,  she  pushed  him  in  with  a  final: 

"Good  night — and  please  try  to  be  quiet." 

Betsy-Barbara  returned  to  her  floor.  Me 
chanically,  she  turned  into  Constance's  room  to 
make  her  customary  last  tour  of  inspection. 
Constance  had  gone  to  bed — her  breathing  was 
deep  and  regular.  Betsy-Barbara  turned  up 
the  light,  tiptoed  over  to  her  side.  Constance 
lay  utterly  relaxed — a  Guinevere  in  sleep;  her 
two  heavy  dark  braids  streaming  over  the 
counterpane.  Her  deep  breathing  seemed  to 
indicate  serenity  of  mind;  but  her  mouth 
drooped,  one  cheek  showed  faint  marks,  and 
her  eyelashes  still  glittered. 


130  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Betsy-Barbara  had  endured  a  day  filled  with 
as  many  varied  emotions  as  it  is  generally 
given  woman  to  endure.  She  applied  the  best 
remedy  that  woman  knows  for  surfeit  of  feel 
ing.  She  took  down  her  hair,  undressed,  and 
cried  herself  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  VII 

FACING  THE   MUSIC 

TOMMY  woke  next  morning  to  the  appro 
priate  mental  and  physical  tortures. 
When  Memory  had  finished  with  her  rack,  the 
Future  applied  thumb-screws.  If  he  went 
down  to  breakfast,  he  must  meet — Her.  Re 
morse  and  jealousy  struggled  in  him  with  a 
perverse  pride.  At  any  rate,  he  would  not 
run  away.  No,  he  would  face  her.  He  would 
look  into  her  eyes,  which  would  be  shocked  and 
hurt.  The  last  embers  of  a  ruined  existence 
would  shine  through  his  own.  Then,  after 
she  had  seen  and  realized,  he  would  go  away 
forever  and  send  her  just  one  letter — no,  just 
one  flower  with  his  card — to  let  her  know  what 
he  had  felt  and  what  he  had  cast  aside. 

Then — since  the  human  spirit  is  never  static 
— having  touched  the  lowest  depths,  his 
thoughts  began  to  rise  toward  hope.  Just  how 
had  he  behaved  last  night?  What  had  she 

131 


132  THE  RED  BUTTON 

seen  him  do?  From  the  haze  of  confused 
memories,  a  clear  fact  appeared  in  this  place 
and  that.  He  had  got  up  the  first  flight  some 
how;  that  part  of  it  was  dim.  He  had  been 
aware  of  her  standing  at  the  landing.  How 
Jiad  she  looked?  Somehow,  he  could  not  re 
member  her  face.  Why?  Because  he  had 
been  looking  at  her  shoe-buckles — at  something 
which  glittered — why — 

The  tragic  night  of  the  Hanska  murder 
flashed  in  upon  him,  and  with  it  a  fact  which 
he  had  told  neither  the  police  in  the  Third 
Degree  process  nor  yet  the  Coroner  at  the  in 
quest,  for  the  simple  reason  that  he  had  for 
gotten  it.  Now,  he  remembered  it  clearly,  per 
fectly.  A  freak  of  drunken  consciousness  had 
brought  back  something  which  he  might  never 
have  remembered  again. 

"Gee  whiz!"  he  cried,  leaping  out  of  bed, 
headache  and  all.  "She's  looking  for  evidence 
— this  will  fix  her !"  A  cold  dip  and  a  dash  of 
bromide  restored  him  wonderfully,  for  the  tis 
sues  of  Tommy  North  were  resilient  and 
young.  As  he  entered  the  dining-room  for 
breakfast,  only  a  slight  pallor  and  a  little  lan 
guor  indicated  the  crisis  of  the  night  before. 


FACING  THE  MUSIC          133 

Betsy-Barbara  and  Constance  were  already 
seated.  Betsy-Barbara  looked  him  full  in  the 
eye. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  North,"  she  said  evenly. 
Nothing  whatever  gave  a  clue  to  her  inner 
emotions. 

"Good  morning,"  replied  Tommy  shortly; 
and  he  slid  into  his  chair  and  attacked  his  grape 
fruit. 

The  breakfast  went  on.  Betsy-Barbara 
talked  freely;  she  appeared  animated  even. 
She  included  Mr.  North  in  the  conversation, 
throwing  him  a  question  now  and  then.  He 
noticed,  however,  that  these  questions  came 
only  at  regular  intervals,  as  though  she  were 
remembering  to  be  very  careful.  That  might 
be  a  good  sign  or  it  might  be  a  bad  one,  he 
could  not  decide  which. 

Betsy-Barbara  and  Constance  had  risen  now. 
Tommy  North,  with  an  effort  of  the  will,  rose 
and  followed. 

"Miss  Lane,"  he  said  in  the  hall;  and  then, 
since  she  did  not  seem  to  hear  him,  he  spoke 
louder,  "Miss  Lane." 

Betsy-Barbara  turned.  Alone  with  him 
now — since  Constance  had  gone  on — her  eyes 


134  THE  RED  BUTTON 

showed  the  emotions  which  she  had  suppressed 
in  public. 

"What  is  it?"  she  said  icily. 

"I  wanted,"  said  Tommy —  "I  wanted  to  tell 
you  something." 

"I  think,"  responded  Betsy-Barbara,  "that 
you  needn't  make  any  more  explanations — 
thank  you!" 

She  was  turning  away  when  Tommy  recov 
ered  himself. 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that"  he  said.  "I  can't  ex 
plain  that,  of  course.  I'm  not  trying  to  ex 
plain  that,  Miss  Lane.  It's  just  something — 
something  new  in  the  line  of  evidence — about 
the  Hanska  case — I  think  it  may  help." 

Betsy-Barbara  turned  again — and  this  time 
quickly.  Her  look  was  startled — but — 
heaven  be  praised — friendly. 

"Something  new?"  she  said,  breathlessly. 
"Oh,  you  angel  fresh  from  Heavenl  Shall  I 
send  for  Constance?" 

This  was  the  point  where  Tommy  North  be 
came  a  strategist. 

"It  has  to  do,"  he  said  humbly,  "with  the 
way  I  was  last  night.  You  saw  me — I 
shouldn't  like  to  tell  her." 


FACING  THE  MUSIC          135 

"Let's  take  a  walk,"  proposed  Betsy-Bar 
bara,  with  her  wonderful  practicality. 

"If  you  wish,"  said  Tommy  North  humbly, 
and  yet  thrilled  with  a  sense  of  renewed  com 
panionship.  Indeed,  by  the  time  they  reached 
the  street, -he  had  recovered  his  spirits  so  much 
as  to  propose  because  the  street  was  so  noisy, 
that  they  take  a  cross-town  car  and  walk  up 
Fifth  Avenue.  The  car  was  crowded;  they 
must  stand;  so  they  did  not  approach  the  sub 
ject  of  the  moment  until  they  were  treading  the 
street  of  the  spenders. 

"Well,  what  is  it?  I'm  dying  to  know!" 
said  Betsy-Barbara,  the  instant  they  reached 
the  Avenue. 

"It  may  mean  something  or  it  may  not," 
said  Tommy.  "Of  course,  on  the  night  of  the 
murder  I  was — and  last  night  I  was — : 

"Completely,  irrevocably,  entirely,  I  should 
say,"  replied  Betsy -Barbara,  with  emphasis. 

"Did  I  do  anything  strange,"  inquired 
Tommy,  "when  I  first  saw  you?" 

"You  nearly  tumbled  at  my  feet,  for  one 
thing,"  replied  Betsy-Barbara. 

"What — what  were  you  wearing  on  your 
feet?" 


136  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Betsy-Barbara  thought  a  second  on  this 
peculiar  question. 

"My  velvet  slippers  with  the  rhinestone 
buckles,"  she  said. 

Tommy  nodded  solemnly. 

"That  was  it — I  was  reaching  for  them  last 
night — just  as  I  was  reaching  for  something 
the  night  I  fell  at  Captain  Hanska's  door. 
And  it  brought  everything  back." 

"Oh,  what  do  you  mean?"  begged  Betsy- 
Barbara.  "Go  on!  Please  go  on." 

"I  had  got  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  on  the 
night  of  the  murder,"  said  Tommy.  "The  gas 
was  lighted  in  the  hall.  I  was  pickled.  You 
know  how  your  mind  gets  on  one  little  thing 
when  you're  pickled — " 

"I  don't,"  put  in  Betsy-Barbara,  in  spite 
of  her  interest  in  the  story — "but  please  go 
on." 

"And  I  saw  something  bright  in  the  hall 
way,  close  to  Captain  Hanska's  door.  I 
braced  against  a  post  and  looked  at  it.  It  was 
a  cluster  of  diamonds — the  more  I  think  of  it, 
the  more  it  seems  like  that  shoe-buckle  of  yours. 
I  was  as  sure  of  it  as  a  man  can  be  sure  of  any 
thing  when  he's  drunk.  I  reached  out  to  get 


FACING  THE  MUSIC          137 

it.  Then  I  tumbled  and  hit— the  stuff.  The 
tumble  and  the  sticky  feeling  put  diamonds  out 
of  my  mind.  Then  it's  curtains  for  mine  until 
I'm  in  my  own  room — well,  you  know. 

"And  the  funny  thing,"  concluded  Tommy, 
"is  that  I  never  remembered  one  thing  about 
it,  not  even  when  the  police  were  combing  my 
very  soul,  until — what  happened  last  night. 
You  can't  be  certain,  of  course.  I  was  pickled. 
But  I'm  sure,  just  the  same,  that  I  saw  a 
bunch  of  diamonds  or  something  beside  that 
door.  You've  asked  me  to  tell  you  anything 
I  might  find  about  the  Hanska  case.  And  I'm 
telling,  that's  all." 

Betsy-Barbara  considered. 

"It  may  not  mean  anything,"  she  said,  "and 
it  may  mean  a  good  deal."  She  considered 
again.  "Even  if  the  diamonds  were  there, 
maybe  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  our  case.  If 
anybody  had  been  robbed  that  night,  if  there 
had  been  any  signs  of  a  burglar,  this  evidence 
would  be  very  important.  But  the  police  say 
that  the  house  wasn't  entered.  Then  again, 
what  became  of  the  diamonds?  It  seems  no 
one  else  noticed  them." 

"Well,"  remarked  Tommy  North  cynically, 


138  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"there  were  a  great  many-  policemen  in  the 
house." 

Betsy-Barbara  walked  on,  still  thinking. 
"Maybe.  I'm  afraid,  though,  that  it  might  be 
only  an  aberration,"  she  said  finally. 

"Perhaps,"  echoed  Tommy  North.  And 
now,  having  finished  his  introduction,  he  ap 
proached  the  subject  nearest  his  heart. 

"Of  course,  that's  all,"  he  said,  "except  that 
I  owe  you  an  apology  for — for  my  condition 
last  night." 

"It  is  yourself,"  said  Betsy-Barbara,  "that 
you  owe  the  apology.  Mr.  North,  why  did 
you  do  it — again?" 

Now  it  was  in  Tommy  North's  impulses  to 
tell  exactly  why  he  did  it — to  come  out  with 
the  truth,  accompanied  by  his  opinion  of  phi 
landering  Spaniards.  But  that  would  have 
amounted  to  a  declaration;  and  to  declare  his 
feelings  for  Betsy-Barbara  was  leagues  be 
yond  his  present  courage. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  carelessly,  desperately,  "I  got 
a  jolt.  That's  all.  And  I  took  it  out  in 
booze." 

"You've  told  me,"  said  Betsy-Barbara,  "that 
you  don't  like  the  taste  of  the  stuff.  That's 


FACING  THE  MUSIC          139 

why  you  drink,  then — to  console  yourself  when 
you're  in  trouble?  Doesn't  that  show  rather 
poor  courage?" 

"Perhaps." 

"Now,  I'm  in  trouble.  And  Constance — 
Mrs.  Hanska — is  in  deep,  deep  trouble.  Sup 
pose  we  drank  every  time  it  hurt !  I  don't  be 
lieve  you  know  what  real  trouble  is — even  if 
you  were  arrested  unjustly." 

"Well,  it  isn't  always  that." 

"No;  you  told  me  the  other  night  it  was  be 
cause  you  hadn't  anything  better  to  do.  Mr. 
North,"  she  added,  suddenly  lifting  her  blue 
eyes  to  his,  "your  need  is  something  else  to  do. 
You're  out  of  a  job.  How  many  jobs  have 
you  had  since  you  came  to  New  York?" 

By  now  they  had  crossed  Twenty-eighth 
Street,  and  reached  the  whirl  and  glitter  of 
morning  on  Fifth  Avenue.  Already  the  morn 
ing  crowd  of  shoppers,  women  of  the  exclu 
sive  class  who  scorn  the  gayer  but  cheaper 
afternoon  parade,  debated  before  shop -win 
dows  or  held  social  intercourse  at  corners.  On 
the  pavement  the  procession  of  coaches  and  mo 
tors  was  beginning.  Already  the  stalwart,  sol 
dierly,  traffic  squad  policemen  were  opening 


140  THE  RED  BUTTON 

lanes  for  pedestrians  with  waves  of  their  white- 
gloved  hands.  The  windows,  each  an  artistic 
creation,  blossomed  with  the  richest  goods  of 
the  five  continents.  It  was  all  alive,  beautiful, 
and — most  of  all  to  the  country  observation  of 
Betsy-Barbara — smart.  It  was  made  for  the 
temptation  of  woman.  As  Tommy  North 
talked,  Betsy-Barbara's  eye  traveled  to  this 
lovely  frock,  that  alluring  window.  Still,  after 
the  universal  habit  of  her  sex,  she  kept  her 
mind  on  the  main  subject,  in  spite  of  these  dis 
tractions  of  the  eye.  The  inner  part  of  her 
was  listening  and  following.  Yet  the  gay  pa 
rade,  the  autumn  touch  in  the  air,  obviously 
raised  her  spirits,  obviously  put  her  in  a  mood 
to  regard  Tommy's  derelictions  tenderly,  even 
humorously. 

"I  came  here  to  found  a  great  commercial 
career — as  bill-clerk  in  a  produce  house,"  he 
said.  "That  job  lasted  three  months — as  long 
as  the  concern  did.  Then  I  accepted  a  slight 
weekly  emolument  from  a  banker.  At  least, 
that  was  what  he  called  himself.  When  I  found 
that  he  was  getting  three  hundred  per  cent, 
from  advances  on  salary,  I  separated  myself 
from  that  position  just  in  time  to  keep  out  of 


141 

the  Tombs.  Then  I  consented  to  lend  my 
trained  financial  mind  to  the  operations  of  the 
Silver  Chain  Mining  Company.  We  had  an 
office  that  looked  like  Buckingham  Palace — 
rich  but  not  gaudy.  There  was  an  Andrea  del 
Sarto  effect  in  wall-paper  over  my  desk,  and  at 
my  right  hand  an  onyx  mantel  containing  a 
bull  in  pure  coin  silver,  which  was  a  hint  of 
what  we  intended  to  do  to  the  market.  There, 
when  I  was  not  composing  great  works  of  im 
aginative  fiction  for  country  investors,  I  used 
to  sit  and  dream  of  great  projects  for  the  bet 
terment  of  the  human  race — all  from  my  pro 
fits.  But  one  day  while  I  was  writing  a  letter 
— we  were  short  of  stenographers — in  comes 
a  coarse,  piratical  country  employee  and  snakes 
the  typewriter  from  under  my  fingers  and  the 
desk  from  under  the  typewriter  and  the  rug 
from  under  the  desk,  and  wraps  them  all 
around  the  cashier's  cage  and  goes  away. 
Then  I  went  into  a  broker's  office,  selling  bonds. 
I  was  there  four  months — "  He  hesitated. 

"And  what  was  the  trouble  there?"  inquired 
Betsy-Barbara,  turning  from  a  Parisian  hobble 
to  regard  him  severely. 

"Well,"  answered  Tommy,  "you  see,  three 


142  THE  RED  BUTTON 

or  four  of  us  went  to  dinner  one  night  at  a  place 
where  the  turkey-trot  is  danced  between 
courses.  When  we  came  out  it  pleased  us  to 
ride  to  Rector's  in  a  butcher-wagon.  Highly 
original — oh,  yes — and  pleased  every  one  ex 
cept  our  boss,  who  was  entering  from  his  own 
machine  at  the  same  moment.  Next  morning 
they  passed  me  my  pay  on  the  end  of  a  cur 
tain  pole.  About  that  time  a  cabaret  offered 
me  a  regular  job  to  turkey-trot,  but  I  passed 
that  up.  I  believe  in  remaining  an  amateur, 
in  keeping  my  art  separate  from  vulgar  com 
merce.  So  I  became  chauffeur  to  an  elevator. 
The  starter  found,  after  two  weeks,  that  I  was 
temperamental.  Sterling  personal  reliability 
is  more  useful  in  running  an  elevator  than  tem 
perament.-  So  when  they  chased  me  from  the 
front  door,  I  wandered  past  an  advertising 
agency.  I  didn't  know  anything  about  that 
business,  which  is  why  I  got  the  job.  I  made 
good,  too." 

"How  many  places  in  the  advertising  busi 
ness?"  inquired  his  relentless  inquisitor. 

"Four." 

"The  same  story  with  them  all?" 

"Pretty  nearly  the  same." 


FACING  THE  MUSIC          143 

"And  you  never  lost  a  place  for  incompe 
tence?" 

"No.  It's  the  only  thing  I  can  say  for  my 
self." 

"Let's  hear  more  details,"  said  Betsy-Bar 
bara. 

By  the  time  Tommy  had  expanded  to  her 
satisfaction,  they  were  past  Forty-fifth 
Street.  The  shops  were  beginning  to  give  way 
to  old  residences,  left  behind  stranded  by  the 
up-town  movement  of  fashion.  Two  women 
— bearing  in  their  move,  their  elegant  sim 
plicity  of  dress,  their  exquisite  length  of  line, 
the  brand  of  the  American  Barbarian — had 
stopped  to  chat  in  the  soft,  .clipped,  affected 
accents  of  their  class.  Betsy-Barbara  re 
garded  them  as  she  turned  over  in  her  mind  the 
case  of  this  troublesome  pupil. 

"Mr.  North,"  she  said  at  length,  "I'm.  going 
to  ask  a  very  personal  question.  I'm  not  ask 
ing  it  for  curiosity.  I've  a  reason,  which  I'll 
state  later — have  you  saved  any  money?" 

"Brace  yourself  for  the  shock,"  replied 
Tommy,  "but  I  really  have.  I  inherited  three 
hundred  dollars  a  while  ago.  And  my  mother 
made  me  promise  one  thing — that  I'd  save  a 


144  THE  RED  BUTTON 

little  every  week.  I  have  five  hundred  dollars 
in  the  bank." 

Betsy-Barbara  nodded  her  wise  and  golden 
head. 

"That  will  do  beautifully  for  a  start,"  she 
said. 

"A  start  at  what?"  inquired  Tommy. 

"At  the  Thomas  W.  North  Advertising 
Agency." 

"At—" 

"The  Thomas  W.  North  Advertising 
Agency.  It's  founded  now,  10:15  A.M.  Oc 
tober  sixteenth,  at  the  corner  of  Fifth  Avenue 
and  Forty-sixth  Street,  New  York!" 

"This  is  so  sudden!"  exclaimed  Tommy. 
But  his  heart  leaped  and  danced. 

"Now,  see,  Mr.  North,"  resumed  Betsy-Bar 
bara,  "I've  diagnosed  your  case.  The  trou 
ble  with  you  is  that  you've  drifted.  Isn't  it?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Tommy. 

"And  it  has  been  the  whole  trouble,  I  think." 
Betsy-Barbara  announced  this  gravely  from 
the  superior  height  of  twenty-four  years. 
"You  need  responsibility.  You  don't  want  to 
grow  into  the  kind  of  young  man  Mr.  Dayne 
and  Mr.  Murphy  are.  They're  professional 


FACING  THE  MUSIC          145 

drifters  now.  When  you're  boss,  you  won't  be 
loafing  on  the  job.  You'd  discharge  an  em 
ployee  who  did  that — and  you  can't  discharge 
yourself.  Some  day  you'll  wish  you  had  a 
business  of  your  own.  Then  you'll  look 
back  and  be  sorry  you  didn't  start  it  when 
you  were  young.  You  can  get  business,  can't 
you?" 

"I  ought"  to,"  said  Tommy. 

"And  I  think  you  ought,"  she  checked  her 
self  here.  She  wanted  to  say  that  any  one  with 
Tommy  North's  personality  should  be  able  to 
drag  business  out  of  a  rock.  What  she  did 
add  was  another  question. 

"And  you  can — fix  up — the  business  when 
you  get  it?" 

"I  suppose  I  can.  I  never  lost  a  place  for 
incompetence — except  the  elevator  job." 

"Then  there's  really  nothing  more  to  be  said," 
responded  Betsy-Barbara.  "Just  get  an  office, 
and  hang  out  your  shingle,  and  go  to  work. 
You  may  fail,  of  course.  But  you'll  be  doing 
it  for  yourself,  and  that,  Thomas  W.  North,  is 
what  you  need." 

Tommy  North  had  been  looking  at  her  as 
one  who  sees  visions  and  hears  voices.  "Why, 


146  THE  RED  BUTTON 

that's  the  way  I  used  to  think.  That's  the 
way  I  used  to  talk,"  he  said.  "I  didn't  realize 
until  I  heard  it  from  you,  how  I'd  got  over  it. 
I  guess  I  don't  think  that  way  any  more.  It's 
this  town,  Miss  Lane.  New  York's  a  queer 
place.  It  fills  up  every  year  with  young  men 
and  young  girls.  It  makes  a  few,  but  it  breaks 
more.  Some  go  right  straight  up  to  the  top, 
but  most  just  drift  along  at  the  bottom,  until 
they  give  up  and  go  home.  I  guess  that  was 
happening  to  me — I  was  drifting  at  the  bot 
tom." 

"You're  nearer  to  it  than  you  ever  were," 
said  Betsy-Barbara.  "You  see  I'm  new  here 
and  I  haven't  lost  that  feeling  that  you  get  in 
New  York  the  minute  you  come — that  you  can 
move  mountains.  And  while  I  still  feel  that 
way,  I'm  going  to  make  you  work." 

"All  right,"  commanded  Tommy  North, 
"fire  away!  I'll  do  anything  you  tell  me  to 
and  go  anywhere  you  say."  He  did  not  add 
what  his  heart  said,  "Even  to  the  end  of  the 
world." 

"The  first  thing  to  do  when  you're  starting 
in  business  is  to  find  an  office,"  said  Betsy -Bar 
bara  practically. 


FACING  THE  MUSIC          147 

"There  are  lots  of  good  cheap  little  places  in 
lower  Fifth  Avenue,"  said  Tommy  North. 

"Let's  look  at  them  right  now!"  exclaimed 
Betsy-Barbara.  And  the  newly-formed 
Thomas  W.  North  Advertising  Agency 
wheeled  and  started  southward. 

That  afternoon,  Betsy-Barbara  and  Rosalie 
Le  Grange  were  sewing  together  in  the  sun 
parlor.  Rosalie,  guider  and  compeller  of  des 
tinies,  had  seemed  for  a  fortnight  the  least 
considerable  factor  in  the  events  now  gather 
ing  about  the  Hanska  case.  She  moved 
quietly  among  the  exactors  of  the  drama,  per 
forming  her  duty  of  shaking  together  a  new 
household.  The  invalid  on  the  top  floor  took 
a  great  deal  of  her  time,  and  her  quiet  moth 
erly  watch  over  Constance  almost  as  much. 
Toward  Constance  she  maintained  an  attitude 
of  distant  affection.  With  Betsy-Barbara,  on 
the  other  hand,  she  grew  familiar  and  big-sis 
terly.  Spite  of  wide  surface  differences  in 
breeding  and  grammar,  there  was  some  natural 
bond  between  these  two — perhaps  their  com 
mon  taste  for  controlling  destinies.  Rosalie 
never  let  her  affections  film  the  main  chance, 
however.  In  their  chats  over  the  muslin  and 


148  THE  RED  BUTTON 

the  tea-cups,  she  drew  Betsy-Barbara,  through 
subtle  attack  and  retreat,  to  full  discussion  of 
the  Hanska  case.  Yet  so  careful  was  her 
method,  that  Betsy-Barbara  never  dreamed  she 
had  broken  any  confidences. 

As  they  pulled  bastings,  Betsy-Barbara 
slipped  in  a  remark  which  she  tried  artfully 
to  conceal  in  general  chatter. 

"Mr.  North  tells  me,"  said  Betsy-Barbara, 
"that  he  is  going  to  start  in  business  for  him 
self." 

Rosalie's  eyes,  their  motion  hidden  by  her 
long  lashes,  observed  now  that  Betsy-Barbara's 
fingers,  which  had  been  fluttering  busily, 
stopped  still  for  a  moment  as  she  dropped  this 
simple  observation. 

"That  so!"  exclaimed  Rosalie;  "well  he's  a 
nice,  smart  young  man  an'  it  will  be  the  very 
best  thing  for  him."  She  pulled  bastings  for 
ten  seconds  before  she  resumed : 

"It  will  keep  him  straight.  He  won't  have 
to  be  helped  up  to  his  room  for  some  time,  I 
hope." 

Betsy-Barbara  stared  and  flushed. 

"Oh!     Did  you  see  it?" 

"Now,  my  dear,  I  think  it  was  brave  an* 


FACING  THE  MUSIC          149 

nice  of  you.  It's  what  any  girl  should  have 
done,  an'  it's  what  most  good  girls  wouldn't 
have  the  decency  to  do.  No  woman's  a  real 
lady  when  she's  too  much  of  a  lady.  Yes— 
I  heard  him  stumble,  an'  I  come  out  an' 
looked." 

"I — I  just  opened  his  door  and  pushed  him 
in,"  said  Betsy-Barbara,  blushing  furiously. 

"An'  quite  enough — I  saw  that,  too."  Ro 
salie  pulled  bastings  for  a  quarter  of  a  min 
ute  more.  Then  she  added,  "I  suppose  you 
called  him  down  all  he  needed  when  you  took 
that  walk  this  morning." 

"Oh,  that  wasn't  the  reason!"  cried  Betsy- 
Barbara,  driven  back  on  her  maiden  defenses. 
"It  wasn't  that.  I  really  didn't  want  to  see 
him.  But  he  had  something  new  to  tell  me 
about — the  case — or  thought  he  had." 

"Um-hum!"  responded  Rosalie.  "Well, 
I've  always  wondered  if  that  young  man  didn't 
know  a  great  deal  more  than  he  was  lettin' 
on." 

"Oh,  indeed,  I  think  he  told  all  he  remem 
bered!"  replied  Betsy-Barbara  with  some 
warmth;  "this  was  just  something  he'd  for 
gotten — something  which  came  back  to  him 


150  THE  RED  BUTTON 

last  night  when  he  was — well,  you  saw."  And 
detail  by  detail  she  repeated  Tommy  North's 
story  about  the  diamond  cluster.  Rosalie,  as 
she  listened  with  downcast  look,  used  all  her 
will  to  keep  her  head  steady  and  her  fingers 
busy. 

"That's  interesting,"  she  remarked,  in  a  mat 
ter-of-fact  tone,  when  Betsy-Barbara  had  fin 
ished.  "But  I  don't  know's  it's  important. 
They  think  they  see  funny  things  when  they're 
drunk  an'  they're  ready  to  swear  to  'em  when 
they  sober  up.  Intend  to  tell  Mrs.  Hanska 
or  the  lawyers  about  it?" 

"I  thought  I  might — I'm  doing  every  least 
thing  to  help." 

"Well,  the  evidence  of  a  drunk  wouldn't  go 
at  all  in  a  court  of  law,"  pursued  Rosalie,  her 
eyes  still  on  her  work.  "Just  as  soon  as  they 
find  he  was  drunk,  they  put  him  right  off  the 
witness-stand." 

"Do  they?"  asked  Betsy-Barbara  innocently. 

"Always.  And  of  course — well,  Mr.  North 
is  pretty  humiliated  already,  an'  he's  a  nice 
young  man,  an'  he'll  probably  cut  out  drink 
now  he's  in  business  for  himself.  Still,  if  you 
think  it's  your  duty — " 


FACING  THE  MUSIC          151 

"Oh,  I  hope  you  think  it  isn't,"  said  Betsy- 
Barbara.  "I  don't  want  to  put  Mr.  North  in 
that  position  again." 

"Can't  see  where  it's  the  least  bit  of  use, 
an'  'twould  only  do  Mr.  North  harm,"  replied 
Rosalie.  "If  you  was  me,  would  you  french 
this  seam?  Yes,  I  guess  it  looks  more  tasty 
that  way."  Rosalie  turned  the  conversation  to 
a  discussion  of  autumn  fashions.  She  sewed 
and  chatted  for  ten  minutes.  Then  she  looked 
ostentatiously  at  the  clock. 

"Gracious!  A  quarter  to  four  an'  I  must 
be  down-town  quarrelin'  with  that  laundry  at 
a  quarter  past!" 

She  rose,  gathered  coat,  hat  and  gloves,  and 
hurried  to  the  corner  drug  store,  from  which 
she  made  by  telephone  an  immediate  appoint 
ment  with  Inspector  McGee.  They  met  in 
Abingdon  Square,  a  rendezvous  half-way  be 
tween  her  house  and  headquarters.  She  pro 
ceeded  to  business  at  once. 

"I've  been  jest  settin'  on  this  Hanska  case, 
Inspector,"  she  said.  "Knew  if  I  waited  long 
enough,  somethin'  would  hatch.  It  has,  but 
I  can't  say  yet  whether  it's  a  rooster  or  a 
duck." 


152  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"What  have  you  got?"  inquired  McGee. 

"Don't  know,  I  tell  you.  Didn't  I  say  in 
the  first  place  that  I  was  workin'  alone  as  I 
always  do?" 

"All  right,  Rosalie,"  replied  McGee,  indul 
gently,  "then  what  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"In  the  first  place,  when's  the  Grand  Jury 
goin'  to  get  to  the  Wade  indictment?" 

"Pretty  soon,  I  guess.  I've  been  holding 
them  off  until  I  get  more  evidence." 

"Well,  keep  holdin'  'em  off." 

"It  looks  to  me,"  put  in  the  Inspector,  "as 
if  you  still  thought  Wade  didn't  do  it." 

"Well,  honest,  are  you  sure  yourself?  Play 
square  now." 

The  Inspector  meditated  until  he  achieved 
a  miracle  of  self -analysis. 

"I'd  be  able  to  judge  that  better,"  he  said, 
"if  I  didn't  feel  I'd  like  to  knock  his  block 
off  every  time  I  see  him.  He  won't  say  a 
thing  one  way  or  another.  Whenever  I  try  to 
put  on  the  screws,  he  just  sits  off  and  laughs. 
Once  they  begin  to  talk,  they're  gone.  And 
confound  him,  I  can't  make  him  say  a  word — 
except,  'I  told  the  Coroner  all  I  knew  about 
the  case.'  " 


FACING  THE  MUSIC          153 

"Well,  you  stop  askin'  him  until  you  hear 
from  me,"  said  Rosalie. 

"Honest,  what  have  you  got?" 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  know?"  Here  Ro 
salie  broke  out  all  her  dimples,  so  that  In 
spector  McGee  smiled  on  her.  "Call  it  a  hunch 
from  the  spirits." 

"You  can't  come  that  on  me,"  said  the  In 
spector,  half  playfully,  "I  know  your  kind  of 
spirits." 

"Well,  call  it  a  woman's  notion  then,  if  you 
like  that  any  better.  The  Grand  Jury's  the 
first  thing.  Next,  that  old  house  of  Mrs. 
Moore's  is  still  vacant,  isn't  it?  I  want  to  go 
through  it  with  you  from  top  to  bottom — an' 
I've  got  to  do  it  so  I  won't  be  seen.  If  any 
body  around  my  house  suspects  I'm  mixed  in 
the  case,  I'm  no  more  use  to  you." 

"That's  easy.  We  can  enter  the  block  from 
the  other  side  and  go  in  by  the  back  door." 

"All  right.     How's  two  o'clock  to-morrow?" 

"Fine." 

"Now  I'd  better  run  along.  I  don't  want 
to  take  any  chances  of  being  seen  with  you. 
For  a  big  place,  New  York's  the  smallest  place 
ever  I  saw." 


154  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Honest,  what  have  you  found?" 

"Honest,  I  don't  know  myself!"  said  Rosalie 
Le  Grange,  dimpling  over  her  shoulder  as  she 
walked  away.  McGee  stood  following  her 
with  his  ey  es. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

COQUETTISH   MC  GEE 

THE  Moore  boarding-house,  scene  of  the 
Hanska  murder,  remained  closed,  a  plain- 
clothes  man  from  the  precinct  detective  force 
keeping  it  under  watch  and  ward.  By  rou 
tine,  the  police  should  have  turned  it  back  to 
its  regular  occupants  as  soon  as  the  Coroner's 
jury  had  viewed  it  and  the  photographers  had 
finished  with  recording  the  evidence.  But 
since  Mrs.  Moore's  boarders  had  transferred 
themselves  in  a  body  to  the  more  desirable 
establishment  of  Madame  Rosalie  Le  Grange, 
the  place  lay  vacant,  displaying  the  sign,  "To 
Rent  Furnished;  Desirable  for  Boarding- 
house."  New  York  is  short-minded  and  cold- 
hearted,  too  noisy  for  ghosts  and  too  busy  for 
brooding.  It  was  not  memory  of  the  tragedy 
which  kept  tenants  away,  but  the  fact  that  the 
murder  happened  early  in  the  month,  and  most 
boarding-houses  are  let  "from  the  first  to  the 

155 


156  THE  RED  BUTTON 

first."  Since  the  place,  for  the  time  being,  was 
of  no  use  to  any  one  else,  Inspector  McGee 
took  the  precaution  of  setting  a  guard  over  it. 
As  another  precaution  for  remote  contingen 
cies,  he  left  Captain  Hanska's  room  undis 
turbed. 

To  this  house — a  plain  four-story  building 
of  worn  brick  near  its  turn  for  destruction  in 
the  next  transformation  of  impermanent  New 
York — came  Captain  McGee  and  Rosalie  Le 
Grange.  They  approached  with  all  the  cau 
tion  of  forethought,  entering  the  block  through 
an  office  building  on  the  next  street,  opening 
the  area  door  with  a  pass-key,  going  into  the 
house  by  the  basement  door  at  the  rear. 

"Ugh!  I  hate  to  touch  it,"  said  Rosalie, 
drawing  her  skirts  away  from  the  wreckage 
of  the  cellar.  "I'm  glad  I  wore  my  old 
clothes.  Guess  Mrs.  Moore  never  kept  this 
place  any  too  well — an'  with  this  dust  an'  your 
untidy  cops,  Martin  McGee,  it's  just  scan 
dalous  now.  Well,  come  on!"  And  so  she 
dragged  her  police  escort  through  floor  after 
floor,  room  after  room — at  first  a  superficial 
survey  and  then  a  minute  search. 

"It's  huntin'  for  a  needle  in  a  haystack  when 


COQUETTISH  McGEE          157 

you  don't  know  for  sure  whether  you  dropped 
it  in  the  barnyard  or  the  pasture,"  said  Rosalie 
as  she  settled  down  to  the  more  careful  stages 
of  her  search. 

"What  is  the  needle,  anyway?"  asked  Mc- 
Gee. 

"I  ain't  sure  it  is  a  needle — it  may  be  a  pin," 
replied  Rosalie  with  her  best  air  of  mystery. 

This  was  a  house  of  four  stories.  In  Mrs. 
Moore's  reign  it  had  a  dozen  occupants,  what 
with  boarders  and  servants.  Each  room  held 
a  score  of  those  impedimenta,  large  and  small, 
which  the  complexity  of  modern  life  has  lain 
upon  the  simplest  of  us.  Not  an  article  but 
might  be  the  mark  which  would  set  Rosalie 
upon  the  trail.  The  preliminary  search — re 
inforced  by  old  questioning  among  her  board 
ers — had  given  Rosalie  the  lay  of  the  land. 
The  kitchen  was  in  the  basement.  The  parlor, 
the  dining-room  and  Mrs.  Moore's  room  were 
on  the  ground  floor.  Miss  Harding  and  Miss 
Jones  lived  in  the  second  story.  On  that  floor 
also,  were  two  vacant  rooms — for  Mrs.  Moore's 
house  had  fallen  on  unprosperous  days.  The 
third  floor,  where  the  men  lived,  had  been  fully 
occupied  by  Mr.  North,  Professor  Noll,  and 


158  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Captain  Hanska.  Tommy  North  had  the 
front  room.  Noll  and  Hanska  lived  opposite 
each  other  at  the  rear.  Captain  Hanska's 
room,  the  main  objective  of  Rosalie's  search, 
was  to  the  right  of  the  passage.  The  top 
floor,  again,  had  only  one  occupant — Miss  Es- 
trilla.  She  lived  at  the  rear  of  the  house,  where 
the  lights  were  lower.  Her  room  was  directly 
above  Professor  Noll's.  Across  from  Miss 
Estrilla's  and  above  Captain  Hanska's  apart 
ment  of  accursed  memory,  lay  a  lumber-room, 
the  catch-all  for  trunks  and  odd  furniture. 

As  they  came  to  Captain  Hanska's  room, 
Inspector  McGee  stopped  and  made  oration. 

"You  can  see,"  he  said,  "that  it  was  an  in 
side  job.  Beginning  on  the  roof,  there's  no 
way  to  enter  except  by  the  hatch  which  goes 
down  into  the  lumber-room.  On  account  of 
the  fire  regulations,  the  hatch  couldn't  be 
locked,  but  it  was  closed  inside  by  a  bolt.  That 
hadn't  been  monkeyed  with.  In  fact,  the  dirt 
around  the  edges  showed  that  the  hatch  hadn't 
been  opened  for  a  long  time." 

"And  the  fire-escape?"  asked  Rosalie,  purs 
ing  her  brows  with  concentration. 

"Runs  from  the  lumber-room  straight  down. 


COQUETTISH  McGEE          159 

Passes  at  the  third  floor  the  windows  of  Cap 
tain  Hanska's  room.  The  corresponding 
room  on  the  second  floor  is  vacant.  That  fire- 
escape  violated  the  fire  ordinances — some  one 
should  have  been  pinched.  In  the  first  place, 
you  couldn't  possibly  reach  it  from  the  roof, 
on  account  of  the  overhang  of  the  eaves. 
Then  it  stopped  short  at  the  second  floor — and 
there  was  no  ladder  below.  Fine  little  way  to 
break  bones  in  case  of  fire!  To  reach  it  from 
the  ground,  a  man  would  have  had  to  jump 
sixteen  feet  in  the  air.  A  professional  acro 
bat  couldn't  have  done  it — unless  they  teach 
'em  in  the  circus  to  shinny  up  a  smooth  brick 
wall.  No  one  entered  by  the  basement,  either. 
Windows  and  doors  all  bolted  inside  and 
showed  no  signs  of  being  tampered  with.  You 
see,  it  was  this  Wade  fellow,  or  an  inside  job. 
And  while  we're  talking  about  locks" — here 
Martin  McGee  opened  Captain  Hanska's  door 
and  stood  with  a  foot  on  either  side  of  the 
threshold — "this  is  a  little  piece  of  evidence  I've 
figured  out  myself.  Notice,  he  had  a  spring- 
lock.  Mrs.  Moore  says  he  put  it  on  himself. 
That  indicates  he  was  afraid  of  somebody — 
Wade,  probably.  Him  being  so  particular  on 


160  THE  RED  BUTTON 

that  point,  it  was  only  natural  he  should  keep  it 
locked  when  he  was  asleep.  Now,  look  here." 

This  was  an  "inside"  spring-lock  of  the  or 
dinary  pattern.  It  could  be  controlled  from 
without  only  by  the  key.  Within,  however, 
was  a  knob  and  a  button  by  which  one  could 
turn  back  the  catch  and  render  it  temporarily 
useless  as  a  lock.  "Well,  now,"  said  McGee, 
"the  catch  was  back  when  they  found  the  body, 
and  the  door  wasn't  locked  at  all.  If  he'd 
been  alive  after  Wade  left  him,  he  wouldn't 
have  gone  to  sleep  without  seeing  that  his  door 
was  locked.  My  idea  is,  he  turned  the  knob 
and  shut  the  catch  back  when  he  let  Wade  in 
— the  way  a  person  does  with  a  spring-lock. 
Anyhow,"  concluded  McGee,  "it's  a  suspicious 
fact." 

"Very,"  said  Rosalie;  and  McGee  did  not 
catch  the  flatness  in  her  tone.  "But  any  one 
who  got  on  to  that  fire-escape,  one  way  or  an 
other,  could  have  entered  Hanska's  room  by 
the  window,  couldn't  he?" 

"Yes,"  said  Inspector  McGee,  "if  Hanska's 
window  was  open.  But  the  windows  were 
closed  when  they  found  the  body.  Most  of  the 
witnesses  say  that.  They  remember  because 


COQUETTISH  McGEE          161 

when  this  Mrs.  Moore  fainted  those  girls 
opened  both  windows  to  give  her  air.  They 
say  they  had  to  open  the  catches  to  get  the 
sashes  up." 

"Stuffy  muggy  night,  an'  both  windows 
closed — an'  him  an  American!" 

"Well,  there's  nothing  particularly  strange 
about  that,  is  there?"  said  Inspector  McGee. 

"Not  to  you!"  replied  Rosalie  Le  Grange, 
dimpling  on  him.  "I  guess — well,  I  guess  be 
fore  we  do  anything  else  we'll  go  over  every 
thing  in  that  room." 

They  entered. 

Except  that  the  blood  had  been  scrubbed 
away,  except  that  the  floor  bore  the  marks  of 
muddy  foot-heels,  souvenirs  of  the  police  and 
the  Coroner's  jury,  the  room  stood  as  Cap 
tain  Hanska  left  it  for  his  long  journey. 
Dust,  which  was  smut  in  the  corners  and  an 
impalpable  film  on  the  furniture,  lay  over 
everything.  The  neat  and  fastidious  Rosalie 
made  gestures  of  displeasure  with  her  fingers 
and  drew  away  her  skirts.  On  the  table  lay 
outspread  the  photographs,  the  souvenirs  of 
five  oceans,  the  extra  knife,  which  Lawrence 
Wade  admitted  that  he  delivered  to  Captain 


162  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Hanska.  The  bed  was  as  Rosalie  had  seen 
it  on  the  night  of  the  tragedy — the  sheets  and 
quilts  turned  back  as  though  one  had  risen 
quietly  and  naturally.  It  was  to  the  bed  that 
Rosalie  turned  her  first  attention.  It  stood 
against  the  wall.  Its  head  escaped  the  swing 
of  the  door  by  a  few  inches;  its  foot  was  near 
that  south  window  which  opened  on  the  fire- 
escape.  Rosalie  went  over  it  minutely,  observ 
ing  everything.  At  the  foot  of  the  white  coun 
terpane,  her  eyes  stopped — stopped  and  rested. 

"It's  spotted,"  she  said  almost  under  her 
breath. 

Inspector  McGee  looked  also. 

"Nothing  special,"  he  replied.  "This  Mrs. 
Moore  wasn't  a  good  housekeeper." 

"Rest  of  it's  clean  enough,  barrin'  the  dust," 
said  Rosalie  Le  Grange,  "and  those  spots  is 
water,  not  dirt — water  on  starched  stuff  al 
ways  looks  that  way — just  crinkly — like  it 
needed  ironing." 

Martin  McGee  considered. 

"That's  easy,"  said  he.  "They  opened  the 
window.  It  was  raining,  wasn't  it?  Well,  the 
rain  came  in  and  stained  it." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Rosalie.     But  she  made 


a  minute  examination.  Let  us  violate  for  a 
second  the  privacy  of  her  mind.  "Dear  old 
dope!"  it  was  saying,  "he  hasn't  thought  to 
look  into  the  weather  that  night.  He  don't 
know  it  had  cleared  up  and  stopped  raining 
for  good  when  I  came  into  the  house;  and  I 
saw  them  open  the  windows  myself." 

"Well,"  she  said  aloud,  "that's  all  for  the 
bed.  Now  let's  see  the  furniture  an'  his  clothes 
an'  everything." 

It  was  half  an  hour  before  Rosalie  finished 
her  search  of  the  room.  She  went  over  it  inch 
by  inch,  her  lips  pursed,  her  hands  making 
quick  flutters  of  disgust  over  the  dirt  and  dis 
order.  She  spoke  little,  and  then  as  though 
to  herself.  Inspector  McGee,  finally,  gave  up 
following  her  swift  movements,  mental  and 
physical,  and  rested  himself  in  a  Morris  chair. 
His  was  a  life  of  grim  hard  things ;  these  sur 
roundings,  depressing  even  to  Rosalie,  were 
to  him  part  of  the  day's  work.  And  so  he  fell 
to  watching  not  the  search  for  evidence  but 
the  figure  of  Rosalie  Le  Grange.  Martin  Mc 
Gee,  untutored  in  esthetics,  did  not  know  that 
there  is  one  beauty  of  youth  and  another  of 
maturity;  that  there  is  one  glory  of  ruddy 


164  THE  RED  BUTTON 

young  skin,  bright  with  new  blood,  and  an 
other  of  faded  skin;  that  the  soul  which  shines 
out  through  mature  flesh  may  be  more  disturb 
ing  to  the  thoughts  of  man  than  young  flesh 
itself.  Had  you  asked  him,  he  would  have 
limited  all  beauty  in  women  to  the  twenties, 
or  at  least  to  the  early  thirties.  He  was  un 
accustomed  to  self -analysis,  to  psychological 
musings  of  any  kind ;  and  the  mood  which  blew 
in  upon  him  was  strange  to  his  nature. 

There  was  something  pleasing,  and  more 
than  pleasing,  about  this  woman  here.  He  re 
membered  how  she  had  appeared  to  him  ten 
years  ago,  when  she  began  flashing  in  and  out 
of  his  life.  He  had  been  sitting  in  another 
house  of  murder,  and  he  had  seen  her  cross  the 
street.  He  had  marked  her  then  as  "a  peach" 
— a  little  too  plump  for  his  idea  of  beauty,  but 
pretty  nevertheless.  She  had  brown  hair  then ; 
she  had  a  neat  figure,  a  smooth  pleasing  face, 
and  those  big  gray  eyes.  The  eyes  remained 
as  they  were,  but  there  was  a  foam  of  white 
across  her  hair.  The  face  had  fallen  into  a 
delicate  ridge  here  and  there,  though  massage 
had  taken  care  of  the  wrinkles,  which  showed 
not  as  yet.  Her  figure  had  broadened  a  little 


COQUETTISH  McGEE          165 

— yet  she  still  bore  it  wonderfully.  The  skin 
of  her  long  plump  hands  had  begun  to  gather 
about  the  knuckles.  And  still — she  appealed 
to  him  as  she  had  never  appealed  in  those  first 
days.  He  had  no  great  amount  of  imagina 
tion;  but  what  he  had  soared  and  took  flight. 
Suppose — then — when  they  were  both  young— 

The  flight  stopped  there ;  the  bird  of  imagi 
nation  fluttered  to  earth,  killed  by  an  arrow 
of  memory.  This  was — had  always  been — a 
medium,  a  professional  faker.  In  their  early 
acquaintance  she  had  duped  even  him.  She 
was  next  door  to  a  crook ;  and  he  dwelt  so  close 
to  crooks  as  to  have  his  tolerations,  but  also  his 
prejudices.  No,  she  wasn't  the  kind  for  a 
man.  But  it  was  a  pity.  The  broad,  sturdy 
police  bosom  of  Martin  McGee  heaved  with  a 
sigh.  A  pity !  How  pretty  she  was  there, 
knitting  her  brows  and  letting  her  dimples  play 
soberly  with  her  thought  as  she  turned  and 
returned  an  old  coat!  And  what  a  mind  she 
had!  Lord,  what  a  mind! 

The  sigh  did  not  escape  Rosalie  Le  Grange ; 
little  in  her  surroundings  ever  escaped  her. 
She  appeared  to  come  out  of  her  thoughtful 
mood,  and  her  dimples  flashed. 


166  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Getting  tired?"  she  asked. 

"No,"  he  said.  And  then  suddenly :  "Rose, 
why  did  you  ever  start  it?" 

"Being  a  medium,  you  mean?" 

"Yes."  The  word  was  out  of  his  lips  be 
fore  wonder  entered  his  mind. 

"Now,  how  did  you  get  that — what  I  was 
thinking  of?  You  make  me  wonder  if  there 
ain't  something  in  your  mediumship." 

"Well,"  said  Rosalie,  "reachin'  out  and  get- 
tin'  things  that  way  is  on  the  edge  of  the 
spirit,  I  guess.  Told  you  before,  the  more 
you  know  about  this  thing  the  more  you  don't 
know."  She  mounted  a  chair  to  peer  along 
the  closet  shelf.  "In  this  case ;  when  a  gentle 
man  sits  still  lookin'  at  a  lady  like  he  really 
saw  her,  he's  thinkin'  of  the  past  among  other 
things.  An'  when  he  sighs  like  that,  it's  prob 
ably  because  she  ain't  what  he'd  like  her  to  be 
— if  he's  got  any  respect  for  her,  which  I  hope 
you  have,  Inspector  Martin  McGeeJ" 

"Yes,  I  have  that,"  responded  the  Inspec 
tor. 

"I  kinder  guessed  you  had,"  replied  Ro 
salie,  smelling  of  two  old  bottles  which  she  had 
found  on  the  shelf.  "How  did  I  come  to  take 


COQUETTISH  McGEE          167 

it  up?  Well,  when  you're  left  an  orphan  at 
twelve — there  ain't  much  choice.  Professor 
Vango  adopted  me — my  mother  was  in  his 
circle.  Old  fake!  But  he  had  mediumship, 
too;  an'  he  thought,  an'  I  thought,  he  brought 
somethin'  out  of  me.  Anyhow,  I  saw  things. 
So  I  became  a  medium,  like  you  became  a  cop 
— because  it  happened  that  way.  If  it  had 
happened  another  way  you  might  have  been 
a  boss  bricklayer  and  contractor — you  wouldn't 
'a'  stayed  a  journeyman,  I'll  say  that  for  you. 
Sometimes,"  added  Rosalie,  drawing  all  sting 
from  her  words  by  a  flash  of  her  dimples,  "I 
think  you're  awful  stupid,  Martin  McGee,  an' 
sometimes  I  think  you're  a  wonder.  It's  gen 
erally  according  to  whether  or  no  you  agree 
with  me.  As  you  mostly  do,  I  generally  call 
you  a  wonder.  An'  you've  got  get-there  be 
sides.  Slow,  but  you  do  get  there." 

This  bit  of  conversation  fulfilled  Rosalie's 
purpose.  It  turned  the  subject  from  herself 
to  Inspector  McGee's  self ;,  and  she  knew  from 
a  life  of  experience  that  no  man  lives  who  can 
resist  that  lure. 

"How  do  you  feel  about  me  to-day?"  he 
asked  with  heavy  male  coquetry. 


168  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"I  haven't  made  up  my  mind  to-day,"  she 
said,  "but  it's  veerin'  toward  the  stupid."  She 
crossed  the  room  and  fumbled  with  the  catch 
of  the  south  window.  He  rose  heavily  to  help 
her. 

"No,  thank  you!"  she  said.  "No,  thank 
you.  I  want  to  look  over  this  fire-escape. 
I'm  that  old  I  can't  go  up  modest-like.  It's 
enough  to  have  the  stenographers  rubberin' 
from  those  windows,  without  you." 

However,  she  managed  with  surpassing 
lightness  the  step  from  the  window  to  the  iron 
stairway,  with  astonishing  grace  the  ascent. 
She  threaded  it  to  its  top,  viewing  it  all  in 
a  general  way.  Then  she  stopped,  making  a 
picture  of  herself  as  she  balanced  on  the  land 
ing,  and  pulled  out  a  wire  hairpin.  This  uni 
versal  implement  of  the  sex  she  twisted  to 
suit  her  purpose,  and  began  a  slow  descent, 
picking  at  the  interstices  of  the  iron.  Nothing 
but  dust,  with  here  and  there  a  straw,  a  bit 
of  cloth,  or  a  scrap  of  paper  blown  thither  by 
the  wind. 

"Unpromising"  she  said  to  herself  sotto 
voce,  "but  I'll  try  everythin' — ugh!  it's  a 
sweeper's  job." 


169 

So  she  worked  downward  nearly  one  flight 
before  she  came  to  a  cake  of  dirt  in  a  corner 
of  the  iron  steps.  She  brushed  it  away  and 
discovered  a  little  irregularity  in  the  metal. 
She  picked  at  this  with  her  twisted  hairpin.  It 
proved  to  be  a  loop  of  steel,  somewhat  spotted, 
but  still  bright.  She  hooked  the  pin  into  the 
loop,  and  pulled.  Something  gave  way.  Out 
of  a  very  small  hollow  in  the  iron  step,  which 
seemed  like  a  bubble  left  in  the  process  of  cast 
ing,  came  a  little  hard  ball.  She  rubbed  it 
with  her  hands,  and  polished  it  with  her  hand 
kerchief. 

It  was  a  red  shoe-button. 

Rosalie  fingered  it,  and  glanced  upward, 
musing.  Above,  the  iron  stairway  ran  straight 
to  the  windows  of  the  lumber-room.  And  that 
was  the  only  window  from  which  it  could  have 
fallen  in  such  fashion  as  to  strike  the  fire-es 
cape.  She  knew  from  Mrs.  Moore  that  this 
room  had  been  used  for  storage  during  all  of 
the  last  year.  If  a  previous  tenant  dropped 
it,  the  lacquer  would  be  gone  or  tarnished  by 
now.  The  other  windows  on  the  fourth  floor 
were  cut  off  from  view  of  the  fire-escape  by  an 
irregularity  of  the  wall.  From  those  windows, 


170  THE  RED  BUTTON 

one  could  scarcely  have  thrown  the  button  and 
hit  that  spot  on  the  fire-escape — "let  alone 
droppin'  it,"  thought  Rosalie. 

Rosalie  wrapped  the  button  in  her  handker 
chief  and  continued  her  search.  Nothing 
heavier  than  straws  and  scraps  of  paper. 

"Well,  you  never  can  tell,"  she  said  to  her 
self  as  she  straightened  up  on  the  landing  be 
fore  Captain  Hanska's  window;  "let's  see — 
who  in  my  house  ever  wears — " 

She  stopped  all  motion  here ;  and  since  there 
was  no  need  for  concealment,  her  face  showed 
the  shock  which  she  felt.  Her  eyes  widened; 
her  jaw  dropped. 

"Um-hum!"  she  buzzed  with  the  tone  of  one 
who  gathers  the  straws  of  suspicion  into  a  sheaf 
of  fact.  "Um-hum!" 

And  just  then  the  voice  of  Inspector  McGee 
boomed  from  within. 

"Pretty  near  through?"  he  asked. 

"Much  *as  I  want,"  replied  Rosalie,  voice 
and  face  falling  at  once  into  indifference.  "Is 
there  a  place  to  wash  in  this  house?  Water 
ain't  turned  off  yet?  All  right.  No,  never 
mind — I'm  still  young  enough  to  crawl  through 
a  window  by  myself.  When  I  get  home,  if 


171 

I  don't  scrub  myself  off!  This'll  do  for  one 
day." 

When,  ten  minutes  later,  she  returned  from 
the  lavatory,  marvelously  freshened  in  appear 
ance,  the  Inspector  awaited  her  in  the  lower 
hall. 

"I  may  be  wanting  to  come  again,"  she 
said.  "Will  you  let  the  cops  know?" 

"Well,  how  do  I  stack  to-day,"  asked  Mar 
tin  McGee,  "smart  or  stupid?" 

"Kind  of  between,"  jabbed  Rosalie,  "but 
edgin'  toward  stupid  still."  She  smiled  again 
over  her  shoulder;  a  dimple  played  and  then 
another;  a  lock  of  hair  fell  from  its  fastening 
over  her  cheek. 

And  suddenly  something  happened;  some 
thing  which  Martin  McGee,  blushing  over  it 
later  in  silence  and  secrecy,  could  not  himself 
account  for.  With  the  motion  of  a  dancing 
bear,  so  awkward  was  it  and  yet  so  quick,  he 
had  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  heav 
ily  on  the  face. 

Rosalie  did  not  seem  to  struggle;  yet  some 
how,  without  haste,  without  disarranging  her 
self  in  one  little  item,  she  was  free  of  him.  The 
surge  in  Martin  McGee  receded  as  rapidly  as 


172  THE  RED  BUTTON 

it  had  risen.  He  stood  blank,  his  color  thick 
ening. 

"Martin  McGee,"  said  Rosalie  Le  Grange, 
"you  jest  cut  that  out!" 

When  Rosalie  returned  to  her  house  late 
that  afternoon,  a  murmur  of  voices  greeted 
her  from  the  front  parlor.  Ordinarily,  the 
house  did  not  wake  up  until  six  o'clock,  when 
Miss  Harding  and  Miss  Jones  brought  a  pair 
of  high-pitched  voices  into  its  quiet.  Rosalie 
parted  the  portieres  and  looked  in. 

Twilight  had  come.  Constance  sat  at  one 
end  of  the  room,  reading. 

Rosalie's  quick  glance  noted  that  although 
she  held  her  book  upright  her  eyes  had  lifted 
from  its  pages,  had  settled  on  a  spot  in  mid 
air  half-way  across  the  room.  Betsy-Barbara 
and  Tommy  North  were  sitting  together  in  the 
low,  much-draped,  much-cushioned  seat  of  the 
cozy  corner.  Before  them  was  a  little  table, 
furnished  with  a  pad  of  paper,  two  pencils 
sharpened  to  needle-point  fineness,  and  the  cat 
alogue  of  a  furniture  store.  Over  the  table 
glimmered  two  blobs  of  light — the  yellow-gold 
that  was  Betsy-Barbara's  head  and  the  red- 
brown  that  was  Tommy  North's.  And  these 


shimmering  patches  were  close  together — very 
close. 

Involuntarily,  Rosalie  listened. 

"I  want  it  to  be  very  simple,  but  elegant, 
too,"  Betsy-Barbara  was  saying.  "Mission 
would  be  my  choice.  Two  desks — a  big,  solid, 
important-looking  one  for  you  and  a  small, 
modest,  utilitarian-looking  one  for  me — four 
chairs,  a  card-catalogue,  a  few  pictures,  simply- 
framed  but  dignified,  and  perhaps  a  rug." 

"Sounds  like  a  fairy  tale  to  me,"  said 
Tommy  North.  "I  tell  you  what  we'll  do — 
to-morrow  morning  we'll  draw  two  hundred 
and  fifty  of  my  five  hundred  and  circulate 
arouftd  among  the  furniture  places  and  do  the 
thing  up  brown." 

"Two  hundred  and  fifty!"  cried  Betsy-Bar 
bara;  "two  hundred  and  fifty!  If  that  isn't 
like  a  man!  Seventy-five  at  the  outside! 
We're  going  around  to  auction  rooms  and  pick 
up  second-hand  stuff.  We'll  get  better  things, 
and  they'll  look  just  as  good  as  new  when 
I've  rubbed  them  up  with  oil." 

"Well,  of  course,  you're  boss,"  said  Tommy 
North,  "but  don't  you  think—" 

But  here — 


174  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Hadn't  you  better  light  up,  children?"  Ro 
salie  asked. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Le  Grange,"  said 
Betsy-Barbara.  "Now  as  for  the  big  desk; 
should  you  want — " 

As  Rosalie  continued  her  weary  way  up 
stairs,  she  heard  the  click  of  the  electric  light 
and  the  distant  babble  of  voices  going  on  and 
on. 

"Lord!"  she  sighed  heavily  to  herself; 
"lord,  lord,  how  great  it  is  to  begin  life  sweet 
and  pure  like  that!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

MOVING  THE   PAWNS 

AT  breakfast  next  morning,  Rosalie 
opened  her  game — opened  it  like  a  master 
of  human  chessmen,  with  a  trifling  move  or 
two  of  the  pawns. 

"Don't  any  of  you  people  be  astonished," 
she  said,  "if  your  clothes  look  strange  and  or 
derly  when  you  get  home  to-night.  This  is 
my  day  for  cleaning  closets.  I  announce  now 
that  if  I  find  anything  isn't  hung  where  it 
ought  to  be,  I'm  going  to  set  it  right." 

"Please  be  so  good  as  to  cover  that  box  of 
Bran-O  biscuits  on  the  top  shelf  of  my  closet, 
before  you  begin  dusting,"  requested  Professor 
Noll. 

"I  guess  it's  all  right,"  remarked  Tommy 
North  importantly,  "but  generally  I  don't  let 
any  one  but  my  valley  or  his  assistant  meddle 
with  my  wardrobe-  Remember,  please,  to  foJd 
them  on  the  same  creases  upon  replacing  them. 

175 


176  THE  RED  BUTTON 

While  you  are  about  it,  you  might  give  some 
of  the  passee  suits  to  any  deserving  person  who 
comes  to  your  attention.  For  instance,  there 
is  my  third-best  evening  suit — you  will  recog 
nize  it  at  once  because  it  is  cut  in  last  year's 
style.  Why  not  the  furnace  man?  Then 
there  are  a  dozen  sets  of  English  flannels  which 
I've  re-ahly  never  had  a  chance  to  wear,  and 
they're  getting  a  little  faded  from  hanging  in 
the  closet.  My  man  tells  me  that  clothes  must 
be  worn  now  and  then  to  preserve  their  ap 
pearance.  Perhaps  the  ash  man  could  find  use 
for  them.  The  point  is,  use  your  judgment, 
my  good  woman.  I  rely  on  your  honesty  to 
keep  for  me  any  bonds  or  securities  which  you 
may  find  in  the  pockets  of  my  lounge  suits." 
And  Tommy,  remarking  in  a  feminine  tone, 
"O  blab!"  flecked  an  imaginary  speck  from  the 
somewhat  threadbare  sleeve  of  the  only  busi 
ness  suit  he  owned. 

When  they  were  gone,  Rosalie  Le  Grange, 
refusing  assistance  from  Mrs.  Moore,  put  on 
dust-cap  and  long  apron  and  made  good  her 
word.  But  she  did  more  than  clean.  From 
Miss  Harding's  apartment  on  the  ground  floor 
to  Miss  Estrilla's  on  the  top,  she  examined  mi- 


MOVING  THE  PAWNS         177 

nutely  every  garment  and  every  pair  of  shoes. 
When  she  had  finished,  when  she  stood  in  her 
own  room  dressing  for  the  street,  she  looked 
very  serious.  Before  she  put  away  her  house- 
dress,  she  took  from  its  pocket  the  red  shoe- 
button.  She  inspected  it  again,  and  locked  it 
away  in  the  deepest  compartment  of  her  jewel- 
case. 

Rosalie  walked  briskly  to  a  bookstore  in  the 
heart  of  the  foreign  district,  held  short  consul 
tation  with  the  clerk,  journeyed  another  block, 
and  stood  at  length  before  a  sign  lettered  in 
many  tongues.  She  hesitated  and  began  talk 
ing  to  herself. 

"You  can't  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks,"  she 
remarked. 

"But  sometimes  you  can  brush  up  the  old 
tricks  he  used  to  know,"  she  added.  "It'll  take 
time — well,  anyway,  I'm  here!"  and  she  en 
tered. 

When  she  emerged,  it  lacked  but  half  an 
hour  of  lunch-time.  At  the  table,  she  made 
subtle  inquiry  about  the  plans  of  her  boarders 
for  the  day.  Mr.  North,  already  busy  with 
his  agency,  had  not  come  home  to  lunch  at  all. 
Betsy -Barbara  had  an  engagement  to  help  him 


178  THE  RED  BUTTON 

select  furniture.  Constance  must  spend  the 
afternoon  with  her  lawyers.  Professor  Noll 
intended  to  read  a  paper  at  the  Health  Food 
Conference.  Miss  Harding  and  Miss  Jones 
never  came  home  between  breakfast  and  din 
ner-time. 

"Now's  my  chance — while  the  house  is 
empty  an'  my  nerve's  good,"  she  said  to  her 
self  as  the  boarders  departed  one  by  one.  She 
reflected  a  moment  before  she  sought  the 
kitchen  and  addressed  Mrs.  Moore. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  "the  cop  who's  on  guard 
at  your  old  place  tells  me  he  thinks  the  owners 
have  found  a  tenant.  We  moved  you  in  a 
great  hurry,  an'  I'm  sure  there  must  have  been 
a  lot  of  stuff  overlooked.  Don't  you  think  you 
better  go  over  the  whole  place  this  afternoon? 
The  cop  will  let  you  in — I  spoke  to  him  about 
it."  When  Mrs.  Moore  had  gone  her  lugu 
brious  way,  Rosalie  turned  to  Molly,  the  maid. 

"You'd  best  clean  the  silver  this  afternoon, 
Molly,"  she  said.  "Look  out  for  the  front 
door;  I'm  goin'  to  be  busy  up-stairs,  an'  if  any 
body  calls,  nobody's  at  home.  Remember 
what  I  say." 

Forthwith,  Rosalie  moved  a  major  piece. 


MOVING  THE  PAWNS         179 

She  mounted  the  stairs  toward  Miss  Estrilla's 
room.  She  was  behaving  strangely.  Her 
eyes  looked  far  away.  Her  manner  seemed 
remote  to  the  things  of  this  world.  As  she 
knocked  and  entered,  she  passed  her  hand  over 
her  eyes,  gave  a  little  convulsive  jerk,  dropped 
her  hand  to  her  side,  and  shook  herself. 

Miss  Estrilla  lay  back  among  the  cushions 
in  half-light.  She  had  taken  off  her  dark 
glasses,  but  the  green  shade  was  low  over  her 
eyes.  She  seemed  to  catch  the  strange  new 
manner  of  Rosalie. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked. 

Rosalie  did  not  answer  at  once.  She  gave 
a  little  stagger,  sank  down  in  a  chair,  and  be 
gan  to  murmur  inarticulate  syllables  in  a  low 
and  rather  husky  voice. 

"What  has  happened?"  asked  Miss  Estrilla 
again;  and  she  spoke  in  real  alarm. 

Rosalie  sat  upright  as  with  great  effort. 
Once  or  twice  her  hands  clasped  and  unclasped. 

"Give  me  that  glass  of  water,"  she  said  in  a 
half -whisper.  She  drank;  she  wet  her  fingers 
and  dabbed  her  temples. 

"Are  you  ill?  Shall  I  send  for  some  one?" 
repeated  Miss  Estrilla.  / 


180  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"I'm  better  now,"  replied  Rosalie  in  a  firm 
but  rather  sleepy  voice.  "It's  cruel  to  frighten 
you.  But  listen.  I'm  in  trouble  in  a  way" — 
at  this,  Miss  Estrilla  settled  back  as  though 
relieved,  somehow — "an'  I've  just  got  to 
ask  for  your  help.  Now  please  don't  be 
scared.  It's  really  nothin' — only — well,  I've 
got  to  tell  about  it,  I  guess."  All  the  weari 
ness  of  the  world  was  in  that  last  phrase.  "I 
git  took  this  way  sometimes.  There's  nothin' 
dreadful  about  it  when  folks  understand. 
Don't  call  anybody,  please  don't.  Jest  stay 
where  you  are.  In  a  minute,  I'll  be  goin'  out 
of  myself — unconscious,  you  know.  I'll  talk, 
probably.  I  may  thrash  around  a  little.  By 
an'  by,  I'll  stop  talkin'  an'  be  perfectly  quiet — : 
Here  Rosalie  shuddered  three  or  four  times 
again,  impersonated  an  effort  of  the  will,  and 
went  on :  "Don't  do  anything  to  me  while  I'm 
talkin'.  But  after  I'm  done  an'  lay  quiet,  wait 
five  minutes.  Then  if  I  don't  come  to,  sprinkle 
water  in  my  face,  shake  me — anything  an' — 
don't — tell — anybody — "  These  last  words 
died  away  in  a  crooning  undertone.  Rosalie 
sank  deeper  into  the  chair.  Her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  distance.  Graduallv,  her  lids  fell.  So  she 


MOVING  THE  PAWNS         181 

rested  for  some  time,  immobile.  The  room  be 
came  so  quiet  that  the  rattle  of  traffic,  the  gongs 
of  the  electric  cars,  the  roar  of  the  Ninth  Ave 
nue  elevated,  struck  the  ear  with  a  distinctness 
almost  painful.  Miss  Estrilla,  sitting  up  on 
her  couch,  watched  Rosalie  intently.  Now  and 
then,  Rosalie  noted,  her  breathing  came  in  ir 
regular  little  catches.  From  the  cover  of  her 
long  eyelashes,  best  instrument  of  her  trade, 
Rosalie  stole  a  glance  which  took  in  this  con 
strained  attitude.  She  let  her  lids  droop  to  a 
full  close. 

"Ugh — oh — ugh!"  went  Rosalie's  voice  fi 
nally  ;  and  at  the  deep  tone,  so  unlike  Rosalie's 
accustomed  silvern  accents,  Miss  Estrilla 
started. 

"Doctor  Carver" — it  was  a  deep  male  voice 
which  proceeded  from  Rosalie's  entranced  lips ; 
this  male  voice  of  her  had  been  the  envy  of  her 
old  contemporaries — "a — ah!  Doctor  Carver. 
I  come  to  speak  of  a  young  man.  I  see  him 
near  this  place.  I  see  a  struggle  about  him. 
I  see  a  glass  of  liquor  on  one  side  of  him  and  a 
woman's  hand  on  the  other.  He  is  drawing 
toward  the  woman's  hands.  I  see  her  more 
clearly  now.  She  has  golden  hair.  I  see  him 


182  THE  RED  BUTTON 

working  far  into  the  night.  His  hand  is  writ 
ing — ugh — "  This  was  a  kind  of  shuddering 
groan.  "I  am  going!"  Another  silence. 
Then  a  light  flute-like  voice — the  accustomed 
tone  of  Laughing-Eyes,  Rosalie's  famous  child 
control,  and  the  most  artistic  thing  she  did. 
The  characteristics  of  Laughing-Eyes  varied 
greatly  with  various  "sitters."  For  the  igno 
rant,  who  like  their  marvels  highly-colored, 
Rosalie  made  Laughing-Eyes  a  babbling  child 
of  four  or  five.  For  the  refined  and  critical, 
like  Miss  Estrilla,  Laughing-Eyes  was  older, 
subtler,  and  less  whimsically  playful. 

"Flowers  for  a  pretty  lady!"  came  the  voice 
of  Laughing-Eyes.  "Pretty  lady  is  sick. 
Pretty  lady  is  crying.  It's  bright  here.  And 
the  spirits  talk  to  me.  One,  two,  three  spirits 
talk  to  me.  One,  two,  three  spirits  talk  to 
Laughing-Eyes.  One  of  them  wants  the 
pretty  lady — oh,  he's  gone!  He  is  weak.  I 
am  weak — good-by — pretty — "  Rosalie's  lips 
closed,  and  she  settled  down  as  though  into 
deeper  sleep.  She  waited  through  a  space 
which  seemed  eternity.  Presently  she  heard 
a  rustling  from  the  bed.  Miss  Estrilla  had 
moved.  Rosalie  braced  herself  within  for  the 


MOVING  THE  PAWNS         183 

shock  of  cold  water.  But  Miss  Estrilla  only 
shook  her.  Rosalie  made  a  sleepy  motion  and 
became  still.  Miss  Estrilla  shook  her  again, 
and  called  into  her  ear. 

"Madame  Le  Grange — wake  up!" 

This  time,  Rosalie  permitted  her  eyes  to 
open.  She  stared  a  moment  as  at  things  re 
mote,  fetched  another  shudder,  sat  bolt  up 
right.  Her  first  expression  was  bewildered; 
her  second  startled.  There  followed  every 
appearance  of  embarrassment  and  chagrin. 

"Oh,  what  has  happened?"  she  said. 

"Don't  you  know?"  asked  Miss  Estrilla,  re 
garding  her  narrowly. 

"I  remember  coming  in  here,"  said  Rosalie, 
"an'  I  remember  telling  you  that  I  might  go 
out — fall  asleep."  She  arose  at  this  and  be 
gan  nervously  to  pace  the  room. 

"I've  got  to  apologize,"  she  went  on,  "I  am 
— well,  the  last  time  I  was  took  this  way,  I 
went  to  my  own  room.  When  I  came  to,  it 
was  dark — the  servants  thought  I'd  gone  away 
an'  forgot  to  come  home  to  dinner.  I  made  up 
my  mind  I  wouldn't  let  it  happen  again  like 
that — an'  you  were  the  only  person  in  the  house. 
Was  I  out — asleep — long?" 


184  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"About  six  or  seven  minutes,  I  think,"  said 
Miss  Estrilla.  Suddenly  she  covered  her  eyes 
with  their  green  shade. 

"What  does  it  mean,  all  this?"  she  asked. 

"Poor  dear,  I  believe  I  must  have  bothered 
you  with  my  talking — if  I  did  talk."  She  ap 
proached  the  bed,  and  sat  down. 

"Now  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you  all  about  it,"  pur 
sued  Rosalie;  "I  must,  of  course.  It  ain't 
right  not  to  explain,  now  I've  made  this  scene. 
But  you'll  be  the  only  livin'  soul  around  the 
house  that  knows  a  thing,  an'  you'll  understand 
what  I  mean  when  I'm  through.  Comin'  right 
out  with  it,  I've  been  a  medium — a  spirit  medi 
um — all  my  life.  You  know  what  that  is,  don't 
you?" 

"Oh,  yes!" 

"Didn't  know  but  you  mightn't.  Some 
folks  don't,  an'  some  hold  a  low  opinion  of  'em. 
I  do  myself."  Rosalie  paused.  "That  was 
why  I  cut  it  out,  maybe — that  and  the  feelin' 
that  my  powers  was  goin'.  It's  a  dreadfully 
tryin'  occupation,  an'  the  associations  are  bad 
— quacks  an'  fakes  an'  things.  I  never  faked, 
but  there  was  a  temptation  to  do  it  all  the  time. 
Well,  one  day  comes  a  legacy — money  I'd 


MOVING  THE  PAWNS         185 

never  counted  on  or  expected.  An'  that  hap 
pened  jest  when  it  seemed  like  my  power  had 
grown  weak  an'  I  had  to  quit  or  be  a  fake — 
because  when  people  come  an'  pay  you  two  dol 
lars  you  have  to  deliver  answers  or  you'll  git 
no  more  custom.  So  I  jest  determined  to  drop 
it  all  an'  go  to  keepin'  boarders  with  my 
money." 

Rosalie  made  the  proper  dramatic  pause 
here,  and  let  her  voice  fall. 

"You  can't  do  a  thing  all  your  life,  though, 
an'  stop  it  right  away.  I  hadn't  counted  on 
that.  I  never  could  control  my  trances  ex 
actly.  They  had  a  way  of  comin'  when  they 
wanted  to.  Why,  once  at  a  whist  party — but 
never  mind  that.  An'  I  hadn't  been  keepin' 
boarders  two  weeks,  before  I  begun  to  have  the 
feelin'.  It's  queer.  I  can't  describe  it  to  you 
unless  you're  mediumistic  yourself,  but  it  takes 
you  right  here — "  she  touched  her  ample  bosom 
with  one  hand.  "You  can  hold  it  off  for  a 
while,  an'  then — it's  like  holdin'  off  sleep. 
Twice  before  this  week  it's  happened — I've 
told  you  what  I  did  the  second  time,  an'  how  it 
scared  me.  An'  jest  now,  standin'  in  the  hall, 
I  felt  it  comin'  on — strong.  You  know  the 


186  THE  RED  BUTTON 

rest.  An'  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me — an'  you 
won't  say  a  thing,  will  you?"  Rosalie's  voice 
held  all  the  pleading  in  the  world. 

Miss  Estrilla,  expressionless  behind  her 
green  shade,  spoke  in  an  even  and  unemotional 
voice. 

"And  what  do  your  spirits  say  to  you?" 

"To  me?"  replied  Rosalie;  "goodness,  I  don't 
know.  I  wish  I  did.  That  was  always  a  curi 
ous  thing  about  my  mediumship.  You  see, 
there's  every  kind.  Some  folks  are  clairau- 
dient.  They  hear  things  while  they're  wide 
awake.  Some  are  clairvoyant  in  half  trance. 
That  means  they  see,  an'  they  know  all  the  time 
'what  they've  seen  and  what  they're  sayin'. 
I'm  the  worst  kind.  I  never  could  get  a  thing 
except  in  full  trance — jest  like  I  was  asleep.  I 
have  to  find  afterwards  from  other  people  what 
I  said  or  did.  Well,  I'm  as  sorry  as  can  be 
that  I  bothered  you,  an'  won't  do  it  again,  if  I 
can  help  it.  Did  I  talk  much?" 

"Not  a  great  deal.  Something  about  a 
young  man  and  a  young  woman." 

"Anybody  in  the  house?  Sometimes — they 
tell  me — my  spirits  talk  about  folks  a  thousand 


MOVING  THE  PAWNS         187 

miles  away  an'  sometimes  about  folks  that  are 
right  here." 

Miss  Estrilla  seemed  to  be  considering  this. 
When  she  spoke,  her  voice  was  still  even  and 
perfectly  controlled;  but  she  did  not  answer 
the  question. 

"You  have  been  very  kind,"  she  said,  "and 
I  don't  see  why  you  should  tell  any  one  else. 
You  may  come  here  whenever  you  feel  that 
way.  It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  return  your 
kindness." 

Rosalie  sighed  as  in  relief. 

"My!  That's  good.  I  didn't  want  to  ask 
— it's  a  lot  to  ask  of  anybody — but  now  you've 
offered,  I'll  take  it.  I've  been  thinkin'  lately 
it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  let  go  of  myself 
when  I  feel  it  comin',  an'  get  it  off  my  system. 
Was  that  the  bell?  Excuse  me — I  ain't  sure 
that  lazy  Molly  will  answer  it. — An'  thank 
you,  my  dear." 

The  bell  was  only  a  pedler.  When  Rosa 
lie  had  disposed  of  him,  she  consulted  her 
watch.  Much  remained  of  the  afternoon ;  and 
the  house  was  still  deserted. 

"Good  time  to  git  in  an  hour's  session  with 


188  THE  RED  BUTTON 

that  darned  phonograph,"  she  said;  and  she 
took  refuge  in  her  own  big  clothes-closet — 
which,  experiment  had  shown,  was  sound 
proof. 


CHAPTER  X 

A  LONE   HAND 

MARTIN  McGEE  waited  to  keep  his 
latest  appointment  with  Rosalie  Le 
Grange  on  a  bench  in  Stuyvesant  Fish  Park, 
dead  center  for  the  Hebrew  population  in  New 
York.  Before  and  behind  him  a  regiment  of 
children  swarmed  over  horizontal  bars  or  made 
loud  play  with  park  swings.  On  the  benches 
to  right  and  left  sat  a  crowd  of  squalid  loafers, 
most  of  whom  would  have  shuffled  away  into 
the  dives  and  alleys  of  the  East  Side  had  they 
known  that  this  florid  stalwart  gentleman  in 
the  plain  gray  suit  was  a  high  policeman.  On 
the  fringes  of  his  vision,  Yiddish  housewives 
bargained  with  push-cart  pedlers.  It  was  all 
very  lively,  very  alien — and  very  odorous. 
Martin  McGee  speculated  lazily  and  with  some 
amusement  upon  the  habits  of  Rosalie  Le 
Grange — so  much  her  own,  yet  so  well  con 
ceived  for  her  purposes.  For  example,  this 

189 


190  THE  RED  BUTTON 

method  of  holding  business  conferences  on  se 
cret  affairs — for  she  always  set  her  appoint 
ments  in  Stuyvesant  Fish  Park,  or  some  other 
out-of-the-way  open  space.  It  was  a  highly 
original,  highly  effective  plan.  One  could  en 
ter  without  attracting  attention;  one  could 
watch  the  approaches;  a  meeting  in  a  public 
park — grant  that  it  were  discovered  in  such  a 
remote  part  of  the  city — could  be  passed  off  as 
an  accidental  encounter,  not  a  conference. 
That  was  one  of  the  thousand  ways  in  which  her 
mind  thought  faster  and  further  than  his.  He 
felt  even  a  shade  of  jealousy  as  he  dwelt  upon 
her.  With  that  ripple  in  the  pool  of  his 
thoughts  came  another  disturbed  feeling. 
How  was  he  to  meet  her  after  what  had  hap 
pened  three  days  ago  in  the  hallway  of  Mrs. 
Moore's  old  house  ?  The  thing  had  been  an  ex 
plosion  of  emotion,  beyond  control  of  will. 
Martin  McGee  did  not  put  it  so.  "It  got  away 
with  me"  was  how  he  expressed  it  to  himself. 

Martin  McGee  was  approaching  fifty,  the 
second  period  of  sentiment  in  man.  In  the 
lusty  summer  of  bis  days,  he  had  wooed — and 
lost.  She  had  chosen  the  other  arm  of  munic 
ipal  warfare  and  married  a  fireman.  Since 


A  LONE  HAND  191 

then  woman  had  cut  but  a  shadowy  figure  in 
his  bachelor  life.  And  here,  in  his  middle  age, 
the  face  and  figure,  the  form  and  move  of  a 
woman  was  playing  hide-and-seek  among  his 
thoughts  of  police  duty  and  police  privilege. 
He  recognized  even  a  certain  embarrassment 
over  the  coming  meeting  like  that  of  a  youth 
who  has  been  slapped  by  a  perky  girl.  Only 
one  fact  gave  him  satisfaction.  Her  cold  with 
drawal  from  him,  her  genuine  indignation,  set 
tled  finally — to  his  enchanted  mind — certain 
surmises  concerning  one  element  in  the  char 
acter  of  Rosalie  Le  Grange.  This,  however, 
raised  up  a  regiment  of  disturbing  thoughts. 
She  had  been  a  professional  medium;  and  a 
medium  was  a  half -crook ;  it  wasn't  respectable. 
With  the  perverse  yearning  of  one  who  has 
passed  his  life  among  disreputabilities,  Martin 
McGee  loved  respectability  in  woman.  And — 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  a  voice  beside  him; 
and  Rosalie's  self  settled  down  on  the  park 
bench. 

He  looked  at  her  without  rising,  his  first 
thought  to  read  in  those  eyes  of  hers,  which 
mirrored  so  many  emotions,  her  attitude  to 
ward  him.  The  eyes  were  laughing! 


192  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"How  do  you  do?"  he  repeated  after  her. 
And  then,  as  though  he  must  be  out  with  it : 

"Say,  I  guess  there's  an  apology  coming 
from  me." 

"If  there  is,"  said  Rosalie,  "there's  one  com 
ing  from  about  every  man  I  ever  knew.  It's 
the  way  of  the  animal.  It's  a  kind  of  a  left- 
handed  compliment  to  the  lady  though." 

Martin  McGee,  a  little  unaccustomed  since 
his  philandering  days  to  the  slender  arrows  of 
feminine  attack,  winced  at  this  subtle  variation 
of  the  common,  "you're-just-like-all-the-rest." 
It  stuck  full  to  the  shaft ;  and  in  a  tender  and 
uninured  spot. 

"This  was  different,"  said  he. 

"So  they  all  say!"  said  she.  But  she  was 
smiling,  and  her  expression,  while  it  held  amuse 
ment,  was  warm  and  mellow.  "Now  let's  over 
look  little  things.  I've  come  to  talk  business. 
I'm  busting  with  it."  She  glanced  to  right  and 
left,  taking  in  a  faded  "black  hood"  of  a  woman, 
a  sodden  "panhandler"  of  a  man.  "I  guess 
we'd  better  walk,"  she  said.  They  rose  and 
threaded  the  push-carts,  the  crowds,  the  confu 
sion  and  smells,  toward  the  river. 

"Now  I'm  playing  a  lone  hand,"  she  began. 


A  LONE  HAND  193 

"If  things  go  wrong,  I've  only  myself  to  blame ; 
an'  if  they  go  right,  you  get  all  the  credit — as 
usual.  I  want  help  an'  no  questions  asked. 
This  Black-hand  outfit  of  dago  detectives — 
what  have  you  got,  that  you  can  lend, me?" 

"You  want—" 

"A  detective  from  the  dago  squad.  I  want 
him  straight  an'  I  want  him  quick  an'  I  want 
him  for  my  own — he  reports  to  me,  not  to  you." 

"What  for?" 

"That  wouldn't  be  playin'  a  lone  hand.  Do 
I  get  him?" 

"I  suppose  you  do." 

"Well,  who's  available?" 

"Let's  see — there's  Anzini." 

"What's  he  like?" 

"Italian  Swiss.  Big  fat  fellow.  Little 
slow,  but  straight." 

"Next?" 

"Cuccoli.  Born  in  New  York.  A  dago 
light-weight  fighter.  Works  on  the  quiet  as  a 
stool-pigeon.  Likely  to  get  into  trouble  but 
keen.  Then  there's  Grimaldi.  He's  a  scholar 
— used  to  be  a  schoolmaster — and  I  keep  him 
on  classy  dago  jobs.  He  talks  Spanish  and 
French  like  a  native — taught  school  once  in 


'194  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Spain.  A  little  fellow,  and  very  talkative. 
Perugini  is  the  slickest  bull  of  the  lot.  He's 
big  and  a  good  fellow — but  he's  pretty  busy 
now  on  the  dynamitings,  they  tell  me." 

"This  Grim whatever  you  call  him — this 

scholar — he's  talkative,  you  say?" 

"Yes." 

"Straight,  too?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  want  him." 

"All  right.     When  does  he  report?" 

"To-morrow  morning  at  seven  o'clock,  Bat 
tery  Park — with  a  description  of  me.  He  ain't 
to  call  my  name  first — wait  until  I  tell  him  who 
I  am — see?" 

"Give  him  a  description  of  you?"  ventured 
McGee,  verging  now  on  compliment.  "If  I  do 
and  Maxine  Elliot,  or  any  of  them,  happen  to 
be  taking  an  early  morning  stroll  in  the  park — '* 

"Tell  him,"  said  Rosalie,  breaking  in,  "to 
watch  out  for  a  dear  old  lady  with  hair  getting 
white  on  top  an*  lookin'  as  if  she'd  seen  better 
days." 

"He'll  never  find  you!" 

"Again  thankin'  you  for  your  kind  attentions, 
but  resumin'  business,"  said  Rosalie  with  asper- 


A  LONE  HAND  195 

ity,  "I'll  wear  my  plum-colored  suit  an'  a  black 
turban — you  know  what  a  turban  is — it's  one  of 
those  hats" — and  she  indicated  a  passing  girl — 
"an'  in  place  of  the  regular  red  carnation  for 
meetings  in  the  park,  I'll  be  carry  in'  " —  she 
considered  a  moment — "a  purple  automobile 
veil.  That  ought  to  settle  me  in  his  mind." 

"I  don't  want  to  be  prying  into  what's  no 
business  of  mine,"  said  Martin,  with  a  touch  of 
sarcasm,  "but  what's  this  all  about?  What's  it 
got  to  do  with  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  Law 
rence  Wade?" 

"A  whole  lot — with  his  innocence  maybe." 

"Oh,  come  off!"  exclaimed  Martin.  But  his 
tone  lacked  a  little  in  conviction,  as  though  he 
were  seeking  to  maintain  a  front.  "You  want 
to  be  careful  in  this  matter,"  he  added  with  the 
tone  of  a  preceptor,  "not  to  let  your  feelings 
get  away  with  you.  Just  because  you've  a  lik 
ing  for  that  widow  in  the  case." 

"No?"  inquired  Rosalie. 

But  that  sarcastic  word  whipped  some  raw 
nerve  in  Inspector  McGee. 

"All  right,"  he  grumbled.  "But  being  on 
the  outside  looking  in  is  a  queer  place  for  a 
chief  of  detectives." 


196  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Rosalie  only  laughed. 

"I'd  like  to  have  you  inside,  Martin  McGee, 
but  I've  got  only  myself  to  blame  if  this  fiz 
zles!" 

They  walked  a  while  in  silence ;  then  Rosalie 
stopped. 

"That's  all  arranged  then..  We'd  better  be 
getting  back.  I'll  take  a  cross- town  car.  We 
shouldn't  be  seen  together  in  the  middle  of  the 
city." 

"Say,"  said  McGee  as  they  turned,  "why 
don't  you  ever  let  me  see  you  between  times? 
Course  you  must  keep  away  from  me  now,  but 
after  this  thing  is  settled,  I  want  you  to  come 
out  to  lunch  and  dinner.  We  might  as  well 
be  friendly." 

"After  this  thing  is  settled — oh,  you're  a  cop 
after  all!"  said  Rosalie.  Before  McGee  could 
unravel  this  cryptic,  she  resumed: 

"Haven't  you  ever  thought  what  we're  doin' 
— we  two,  gadding  about  talkin'  of  lunch  and 
dinners  ?  You've  been  a  cop  too  long,  I  guess. 
I  had  a  sittin'  with  myself  last  night.  If  we 
succeed — if  you  make  a  good  case  of  it,  an'  if 
I  git  what  I'm  after — somebody  goes  to  the 
chair.  That's  what  we're  doin'.  You  don't 


A  LONE  HAND  197 

think  of  it.     You're  a  man  an'  a  cop.     But  I 
do." 

"Not  enough  to  make  you  stop?"  inquired 
McGee,  regarding  her  narrowly. 

"No,  but  enough  to  make  me  sure  the  right 
one  goes,  and  enough  to  make  me  want  to  stop 
thinkin'  of  what  will  happen  when  we  get 
through."  Her  voice  caught  on  this.  McGee 
looked  at  her  sharply.  Her  eyes  were  swim 
ming. 

"If  you  listened  to  the  people  they  leave  be 
hind,  as  a  medium  has,"  she  said.  "But  good 
ness" —  and  she  dabbed  her  eyes — "that  will 
be  about  all  from  me.  Only" — a  dimple  flick 
ered — "this  life  on  the  flesh-plane's  a  hard 
thing."  They  were  at  the  car  now.  "I'll  send 
for  you  when  wanted,  Martin  McGee,"  she 
said.  "An'  remember — a  purple  auto  veil  in 
my  right  hand." 

Rosalie  did  not  return  home  at  once.  In 
stead,  she  proceeded  to  that  house  in  the  Latin 
Quarter  before  which  she  had  paused  and  con 
sidered  a  problem  three  days  before.  It  is  one 
of  Rosalie's  peculiarities  that  she  shrouds  every 
thing  in  mystery,  but  lets  out  a  clue  here  and 
there  to  puzzle  the  observer  and  to  satisfy  her 


198  THE  RED  BUTTON 

individual  sense  of  humor.  I  who  write  of  her 
have  caught  that  trick  from  Rosalie.  I  will 
reveal  now — as  Rosalie  would  have  revealed  it 
with  a  flash  of  eyes  and  dimples — that  this 
place  bore  the  sign,  "J.  Martinez,  Teacher  of 
Languages,"  and  that  the  phonograph  which 
she  kept  in  her  closet  was  a  device  of  the  Mar 
tinez  Method  in  Languages.  She  was  refresh 
ing  her  somewhat  scattered  knowledge  of  con 
versational  Spanish,  gained  years  ago  when 
she  played  a  profitable  season  at  trance,  test 
and  development  work  in  El  Paso,  San  An 
tonio,  and  other  points  near  the  border.  She 
spent  a  half -hour  in  conversation  with  Profes 
sor  Martinez,  did  a  few  necessary  errands,  and 
reached  her  house  at  five  o'clock.  Betsy-Bar 
bara  was  just  coming  in. 


CHAPTER  XI 

CRYING   IT   OUT 

r  I  iHERE  was  something  the  matter  with 
JL  Betsy-Barbara.  Even  before  she  spoke, 
Rosalie  recognized  that. 

"I'm  afraid  Constance  is  going  to  pieces,*' 
said  Betsy-Barbara,  relieving  her  mind  at  once. 
"She  worries  me  to  death.  She  will  go  to  the 
Tombs.  When  she  leaves  there,  she's  like  a 
rock — Mr.  Wade  is  perfectly  bully,  and  he 
seems  to  inspire  her  with  his  own  confidence. 
But  the  moment  she  gets  back  here,  she  just 
wilts!"  Here  Betsy-Barbara  herself  seemed 
to  break ;  the  tears  came,  and  with  them  a  little 
hard  burst  of  laughter.  The  experienced 
Rosalie  took  her  to  her  own  room,  wheeled  her 
to  the  couch,  banked  her  comfortably  with 
pillows. 

"Now  cry  it  out,  my  dear,"  she  said.  And 
Betsy-Barbara  cried  it  out. 

Rosalie  herself  spilled  a  few  tears,  so  that 
199 


200  THE  RED  BUTTON 

she  ceased  for  a  time  her  caressing  monosylla 
bles  for  fear  of  the  unsteadiness  in  her  own 
voice. 

"I  ought  not  to  let  myself  go  like  this,"  said 
Betsy-Barbara  when  the  storm  was  over,  "I'm 
as  ashamed  as  I  can  be.  At  least,  I  never  let 
Constance  see  how  I  feel.  But  sometimes 
when  I'm  alone — " 

"I  know,  dear,  I  know!"  said  Rosalie,  bus 
tling  about  with  water,  towels,  smelling-salts, 
toilet  water,  all  the  restoratives  of  the  feminine 
pharmacopoeia,  "there's  two  kinds  of  people  in 
this  world,  dearie — the  posts  and  the  rails. 
You  an'  I  are  posts.  But  there's  times  when  a 
person  would  like  to  quit  and  be  rebuilt  an'  sag 
down  an'  be  a  rail.  Now  let  me  put  this  on 
your  face,  dearie,  an'  you'll  come  to  dinner  as 
fresh  as  ever."  She  bathed  Betsy-Barbara's 
face  with  long  motherly  strokes. 

"But  it's  such  a  dreadfully  long  time  to 
wait,"  sobbed  Betsy-Barbara,  her  eyes  giving 
signs  of  a  clearing  shower,  "that  I  scarcely  dare 
look  ahead.  And  when  I  think  of  the  trial  and 
the  awful  strain  on  Constance — " 

"If  there  ever  is  a  trial,"  replied  Rosalie. 
"Why,  he  hasn't  even  been  indicted  yet.  You 


CRYING  IT  OUT  201 

don't  understand  the  game  or  you'd  know  how 
much  that  means.  They  don't  dare  indict  him 
with  the  little  tiny  bit  of  evidence  they've  got. 
It's  long,  but  the  longer  the  night  the  brighter 
the  day,  I  say.  An'  just  when  it  seems  you 
haven't  a  drop  of  strength  left,  is  the  very  time 
you  get  strength  from  somewhere.  I've  got 
my  own  ideas  about  where  it  comes  from — but 
there !  That's  religion,  an'  we  ain't  talkin'  re 
ligion.  Of  course,  you're  goin'  to  let  me  help 
you."  While  Rosalie  spoke,  she  had  mechanic 
ally  handed  Betsy-Barbara  the  atomizer.  Me 
chanically,  Betsy-Barbara  took  it  and  sprayed 
her  pearly  throat  with  toilet  water.  Mechan 
ically  again,  Rosalie  gave  her  a  square  of  cham 
ois,  white  with  face  powder.  Mechanically, 
Betsy-Barbara  passed  it  over  cheeks  and  nose. 

"Thank  you — but  you  have  helped  a  great 
deal  already,"  said  Betsy-Barbara,  emerging 
from  these  ministrations  a  delicious,  white-faced 
little  clown.  "I  don't  know  what  ever  I  should 
have  done  without  you,"  she  added  as  she  dusted 
off  the  superfluous  powder  with  little  dashing 
touches  of  her  hands. 

"Oh,  that's  nothin'.  I'm  a  horse  for  carry 
ing  troubles — other  people's.  I  haven't  chick 


202  THE  RED  BUTTON 

or  child  or  husband  or  relation,  which  is  why 
I  never  lug  round  any  serious  worries  of  my 
own.  But  I've  found  enough  an'  to  spare  of 
other  people's  since  I  took  over  the  remains  of 
this  Hanska  murder  case.  If  murderers  only 
knew,"  she  added,  dimpling,  "how  much  they 
put  out  a  person's  way  of  life,  they'd  count  ten 
first  and  never  do  it." 

Betsy-Barbara,  smoothing  her  brows  and 
brushing  powder  out  of  her  lashes  with  her  fin 
ger-tips,  smiled  at  this  pleasantry,  grim  though 
it  was. 

"I  didn't  know,"  she  said,  "that  the  case 
greatly  bothered  any  one  here  except  Constance 
and  me — or  not  since  Mr.  North  was  released 
at  any  rate." 

"Well,  I  wish  that  was  all,"  began  Rosalie. 
She  paused  here  for  a  second,  her  body  frozen 
to  a  pose.  So  she  always  paused  upon  the  birth 
of  a  new  idea.  Had  she  known  of  this  habit, 
she  would  have  practised  to  control  it ;  for  she 
had  studied,  during  thirty  years  of  trafficking 
with  man's  emotional  expression,  to  let  no  ex 
ternal  sign  betray  her  real  thought — unless  she 
wished  to  betray  that  thought.  But  this  was 
such  an  infinitesimal  trick  of  manner  that  none, 


CRYING  IT  OUT  203 

not  even  her  shrewd-eyed  fellows  of  her  old 
craft,  had  ever  discovered  it.  We,  however, 
who  behold  and  study  Rosalie  Le  Grange  from 
the  standpoint  of  the  divine,  may  observe  it 
and  make  comment.  As  we  tread  the  mazes 
of  her  diplomacies,  it  will  be  a  guide  to  our  feet. 

"Mainly,"  resumed  Rosalie  after  this  little 
significant  pause,  "it's  this  Miss  Estrilla.  The 
whole  affair  has  got  dreadfully  on  her  nerves, 
she  being  sick  as  she  is — all  run  down." 

At  mention  of  that  name,  Betsy-Barbara 
looked  up  suddenly.  Some  harder  emotion, 
Rosalie  observed,  seemed  to  pierce  the  thinning 
cloud  of  her  grief. 

"Yes?"  said  Betsy-Barbara.  Her  tone  was 
non-committal. 

"The  shock  got  on  her  nerves.  She  was 
away  up  on  the  top  floor  that  night,  hearin' 
everything  and  seein'  nothing  at  all.  That  al 
ways  makes  it  worse.  She  wouldn't  even  read 
the  papers  afterward,  an'  I  never  mention  the 
case  to  her — nor  do  you,  dearie.  I  soon  found 
out  that  she's  like  you  an'  me — she's  the  kind  to 
worry  about  other  people's  troubles.  An'  it's 
queer,  but  one  little  thing  bothers  her  a  whole 
lot.  She  heard  about  Mr.  North  comin'  home 


204  THE  RED  BUTTON 

drunk,  an'  she's  afraid  that  he'll  go  bad  with 
liquor  thinkin'  about  his  arrest.  Tell  me,"  she 
added,  suddenly  shifting  the  line  of  attack,  "he 
has  really  cut  out  liquor  an'  got  busy,  hasn't 
he?" 

Rosalie,  reading  Betsy-Barbara's  mind  by 
the  process  of  observing  expressions  and  mak 
ing  swift  deductions  thereon,  perceived  that 
Betsy-Barbara  was  about  to  say,  "What  affair 
is  it  of  yours?"  She  perceived  also  that  the 
better  part  of  Betsy-Barbara,  the  part  which 
impelled  her  to  her  philanthropies  of  service, 
had  put  down  that  vixenish  reply. 

"Yes,"  said  Betsy-Barbara,  "I  think  he  won't 
drink  any  more.  He's  too  busy  with  his 
agency." 

"How's  it  going?"  asked  Rosalie. 

"Splendid,  I  hear,"  replied  Betsy-Barbara. 
"He's  getting  promises  of  some  very  good  busi 
ness  already." 

Rosalie  resumed  her  best  motherly  expres 
sion. 

"Now  I'm  just  as  sure  as  I  can  be,"  she 
said,  "that  you  were  the  person  who  made  him 
do  it.  When  I  first  thought  over  the  case  of 
that  young  man,  I  saw  what  he  needed.  An' 


CRYING  IT  OUT  205 

he's  got  it,  all  right!  Guess  you  can  count  on 
him.  When  a  man  really  has  the  habit,  he's 
gone.  But  when  he  hasn't,  all  he  needs  is 
something  more  interesting  to  do." 

"I  think  so,"  replied  Betsy-Barbara,  relieved 
that  Rosalie  seemed  to  be  prying  no  further 
into  her  relations  with  Tommy  North. 

"I'm  sure.  Well,  gettin'  back  to  Miss  Es- 
trilla.  She  showed  to-day  in  a  little  talk  with 
me  that  Mr.  North  was  on  her  mind.  I  notice 
you  don't  go  up  there  much.  But  if  you  could 
stop  in  once  or  twice  just  like  you  used  to,  an' 
about  the  second  time  let  it  out  natural  about 
Mr.  North's  takin'  a  brace  an*  goin'  to  work, 
it  would  be  a  blessing  to  her.  Of  course,  it 
must  be  led  up  to — an'  you  mustn't  say  any- 
thin'  about  the  murder.  She  just  can't  stand 
that." 

Betsy-Barbara  did  not  show  the  enthusiasm 
which  Rosalie  expected.  She  hesitated.  This 
was  genuinely  puzzling.  Rosalie's  memory, 
playing  like  lightning  over  this  turn  in  girl- 
psychology,  called  up  a  set  of  facts  which  she 
had  hitherto  observed  without  correlation.  Of 
late,  though  Seiior  Estrilla  by  no  means  neg 
lected  his  sister,  his  visits  to  the  parlor  had  be- 


206  THE  RED  BUTTON 

come  more  regular.  Twice  she  had  seen  him 
talking  to  Betsy-Barbara  in  the  hall.  It  was 
Rosalie's  impression  that  he  had  waited  there  to 
find  an  opening  for  a  tete-a-tete. 

"Is  it  Mr.  Estrilla  an'  not  Tommy  North 
that  she's  doin'  this  maneuverin'  to  cover  up?" 
she  asked  herself  mentally. 

All  this  had  passed  with  the  swiftness  of 
thought — when  thought  travels  the  electric 
wires  of  such  a  mind  as  Rosalie's.  But  now 
Betsy-Barbara  was  speaking: 

"The  reason  I  haven't  been  there,  Mrs.  Le 
Grange,  is  frankly  because  of  Mr.  Estrilla. 
He's  so — so — so — overpowering  I  guess  I 
mean.  Of  course,  I  don't  take  him  seriously, 
and  yet  he  does  look  at  me  so  and  pay  me  such 
extraordinary  compliments !  I  don't  know  ex 
actly  how  to  handle  that  kind  of  man,"  she 
ended  with  a  little  nervous  laugh. 

Rosalie  waited. 

"Of  course,  you  understand,  I  like  him.  I 
can't  exactly  let  him  see  how  much  I  like  him, 
for  fear  he'll  think  it's" — she  paused  and 
laughed — "it's  the  way  he  seems  to  want  me  to 
like  him." 

"He's  a  dear,"  said  Rosalie  with  genuine 


CRYING  IT  OUT  207 

warmth ;  "can't  say  when  I've  seen  a  young  man 
that  an  old  woman  like  me  feels  more  like 
wantin'  to  play  around  with.  But  it  is  bother 
some  to  you,  I  can  see.  Especially  when 
there's  a  nice  young  American  man  that  you 
feel  some  responsibility  for." 

Betsy-Barbara  bristled  a  moment  at  this. 
But — as  Rosalie  had  foreseen — the  feminine  in 
stinct  for  confession  was  stronger  than  the 
feminine  instinct  for  concealment. 

"I've  had  a  hard  time  to  keep  Mr.  North 
from  seeing  it.  Not  that  it's  any  of  his  busi 
ness  exactly,  or  that  I  think  he'd  care  partic 
ularly.  But  just  at  this  moment,  Mr.  .North 
really  needs  me.  If  he  thought  that  Mr.  Es- 
trilla — well,  it  might  spoil  all  I'm  trying  to 
do  for  him." 

"Yes,  indeed!"  replied  Rosalie,  without  a 
trace  of  irony. 

Betsy-Barbara  went  on  in  a  nonchalant 
voice. 

"These  two  men  are  nothing  to  me,  of  course. 
Mr.  Estrilla  is  a  very  interesting  person.  He's 
handsome,  and  in  the  right  way — if  you  know 
what  I  mean.  I  love  his  little  accent  and  his 
witty  talk,  and  I  think  his  singing  is  simply 


208  THE  RED  BUTTON 

adorable.  As  for  Mr.  North" — Betsy-Bar 
bara  paused.  Then  her  voice  ran  glibly  to  its 
carefully  careless  conclusion — "he's  only  a  very 
good  friend." 

"It's  Tommy  North,  all  right!"  was  Rosa 
lie's  mental  comment. 

"Well,"  she  said  aloud,  "those  things  are  like 
anything  else.  They  look  worse  a  ways  off 
than  they  do  when  you're  facin'  them.  Slip 
me  a  word  if  any  of  it  ever  really  bothers  you, 
an'  I  can  probably  help.  You  wouldn't  care 
to  do  what  I  asked  for  Miss  Estrilla?" 

"Oh,  yes.  I  can  surely  do  that!"  replied 
Betsy-Barbara,  her  generosity  reviving,  now 
that  she  had  opened  her  mind  a  little. 

"That's  a  good  girl!  Now  remember — wait 
a  while  before  you  get  it  in — I  don't  want  her 
to  suspect  that  I  tipped  you  off.  Goodness! 
What  are  those  girls  doin'  in  the  kitchen  that 
makes  such  a  smell?"  And  Rosalie  sped  to 
her  household  duties. 

The  next  evening,  as  the  little  party  in  the 
parlor  adjourned,  Betsy-Barbara  called  Rosa 
lie  aside  to  say: 

"I  did  as  you  told  me — in  fact  as  soon  as  I 
began  talking  about  Mr.  North  this  evening, 


CRYING  IT  OUT  209 

Miss  Estrilla  asked  me  herself  how  he  was  do 
ing.  So  I  gave  her  the  whole  story — about  the 
agency,  you  know." 

"Did  she  seem  relieved?"  asked  Rosalie. 

"No,"  said  Betsy-Barbara,  musing,  "relieved 
isn't  exactly  the  word.  It  was  really  queer  the 
way  she  took  it — she  was  so  interested.  Why, 
she  just  listened  breathlessly!" 

As  Rosalie  finished  her  session  with  the 
phonograph  that  night  and  began  to  take 
down  her  hair,  she  talked  to  herself  under  her 
breath. 

"Well,  Miss  Estrilla  connected  up  the  two 
things,  all  right — that  spirit  dope  about  the 
whisky  bottle  with  the  little  talk  I  planted  in 
Betsy-Barbara  Lane.  Clever  of  -me  to  think 
of  Betsy-Barbara.  But  I've  got  to  go  slow — 
slower'n  I  ever  did  in  my  life !" 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   PEREZ  FAMILY 

I  1ST  a  remote  corner  of  Central  Park,  Rosalie 
was  holding  a  conference  with  Grimaldi,  her 
specially-assigned  detective  in  the  Hanska  case. 
He  was  a  small  Italian  of  the  blond  northern 
type,  a  throwback  to  some  remote  Gothic  an 
cestor.  He  showed  his  race,  however,  in  con 
tour,  in  manner,  and  in  certain  personal  pecul 
iarities,  as  the  care  with  which  he  waxed  his 
mustache,  the  loud  color  in  his  shirt  and  cravat, 
the  neatness  of  his  small  pointed  shoes. 
Schoolmaster  that  he  had  been,  linguist  that  he 
was,  he  spoke  English  in  academic  form  but 
with  trimmings  of  police  slang. 

"I  think,"  said  Grimaldi,  "that  the  real  name 
is  Perez." 

"How  did  you  get  that?" 

"It  took  a  little  time.     First  I  frisked  his 
room.     I  went  in  as  the  gas  inspector." 

210 


THE  PEREZ  FAMILY         211 

"Which  was  takin'  risks,"  admonished  Rosa 
lie. 

"Not  the  way  I  did  it.  The  real  inspector 
is  my  friend ;  I  had  his  permission  to  imperson 
ate  him." 

"Pretty  good!"  commented  Rosalie.  "An* 
you  found  nothing  about — what  I'm  after?" 

"No.  That  was  the  suspicious  thing — I 
mean,  the  absence  of  any  sign  of  identification 
looked  curious  to  me.  I  didn't  have  much 
time,  so  I  went  straight  to  the  favorable  places. 
This  Estrilla  or  Perez  had  only  four  or  five 
books.  There  was  no  writing  in  them — but  the 
fly-leaf  was  torn  out  of  all  the  old  ones.  I  ex 
amined  his  clothes.  They  look  English  to  me 
— certainly  they  aren't  the  work  of  an  Ameri 
can  tailor  nor  yet  a  Spanish.  Perhaps  you 
don't  know  that  a  tailor  generally  sews  some 
where  behind  a  pocket  a  little  tag  giving  the 
date,  his  own  name  and  the  name  of  the  cus 
tomer?" 

"Don't  I?"  inquired  Rosalie.  A  hundred 
times  she  had  used  that  peculiarity  of  tailors  as 
a  part  of  her  "mediumship." 

"Well,"  said  Grimaldi,  "they  are  gone!" 

Rosalie  looked  her  surprise. 


212  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Gone,  every  one  of  them,  ripped  right  out,'5 
said  Grimaldi.  "You  could  see  where  the 
threads  had  been.  The  same  with  the  hats. 
But  I  found  one  thing  which  didn't  amount  to 
much,  except  that  it  was  an  opening.  He  has 
a  camera.  I  don't  know  why  I  examined  that, 
unless  it  was  a  hunch.  It  was  foreign-made — 
American  boxes  are  manufactured  by  a  trust, 
and  they  all  look  alike.  Down  by  the  range- 
scale  I  found  a  nickel  plate  such  as  agents  al 
ways  put  on  cameras.  It  read:  'J.  Lichen- 
stein,  Cameras  and  Camera  Supplies,  Port  of 
Spain,  Trinidad.'  " 

"Where's  that?" 

"Trinidad  is  an  island  off  the  coast  of  South 
America — near  Venezuela.  Port  of  Spain  is 
the  main  town.  It's  a  British  possession,  but 
there  are  many  French  and  Spanish  residents. 
I  had  taken  the  precaution,  when  I  started  out, 
to  have  the  police  photographer  get  a  snap 
shot  of  this  Estrilla.  I  took  the  picture  to — 
well,  never  mind  who  he  is.  He's  lived  all  over 
South  America.  He  knows  every  Spanish 
colony  in  town.  He  helps  the  police  as  a  stool- 
pigeon,  which  is  why  I'm  not  telling  his  name. 
And  he  gave  me  what  may  be  an  identification. 


THE  PEREZ  FAMILY          213 

He's  almost  sure  that  Estrilla  is  a  Spaniard 
from  Port  of  Spain  named  Juan  Perez.  The 
Perez  family  were  cacao  growers  in  Trinidad. 
The  head  of  the  family  was  named  Miguel 
Perez — I  suppose,  though,  you  aren't  inter 
ested  in  the  family." 

"That's  just  what  I  want  to  know." 

"Miguel  Perez  was  this  man's  father — if  the 
stool-pigeon  is  right  in  his  identification.  The 
stool-pigeon  was  down  there  about  three  or 
four  years  ago.  At  that  time,  Miguel  Perez 
had  just  died,  and  this  Juan  had  inherited  the 
business.  It  seemed  that  he  wasn't  getting  on 
well  with  it.  At  least,  that  was  the  gossip. 
That's  all — oh,  yes,  the  stool-pigeon  remem 
bered  one  other  thing  about  Miguel  Perez. 
He'd  had  an  early  romance  with  an  English 
girl — navy  people.  Miguel  Perez  married  her, 
and  she  didn't  live  very  long.  After  that,  he 
married  again — a  Spanish  girl  from  Caracas 
— and  Juan  Perez  was  the  son  of  that  mar 
riage.  That  was  about  all  he  could  remem 
ber." 

"Still,  the  camera  marked  Port  of  Spain, 
seems  to  fix  it,  somehow." 

"It  seems  to.     But,  of  course,  you  can't  be 


214  THE  RED  BUTTON 

certain.  He  may  be  a  relative  and  have  a 
family  resemblance." 

"Your  friend  didn't  know  whether  old  Mig 
uel  Perez  had  any  children  by  his  first  mar 
riage — to  the  English  girl?" 

"He  didn't  say,  at  least." 

Rosalie  congealed  to  a  pose  with  the  advent 
of  an  idea. 

"Tell  me,"  she  asked,  "when  a  father  and  a 
mother  are  of  different  nationalities — talk  dif 
ferent  languages — what  language  does  the  baby 
learn  first — the  father's  or  the  mother's?" 

"Oh,  the  mother's — always." 

"So  if  there  was  a  child  from  his  first  mar 
riage — to  the  English  girl — he'd  talk  better 
English  than  Juan  Perez?" 

"He'd  pronounce  it  better,  anyway.  There's 
no  reason  why,  with  such  a  start,  a  child 
brought  up  in  Port  of  Spain,  which  is  an  Eng 
lish  possession,  shouldn't  speak  as  good  Eng 
lish  as" — here  Grimaldi  was  about  to  say  "as 
you,"  but  sense  of  truth  restrained  him — "as 
anybody,"  he  concluded. 

"And  a  mother  always  talks  to  her  baby  in 
her  own  language." 

"Oh,  of  course." 


THE  PEREZ  FAMILY          215 

"An'  if  any  foreigner — you,  for  instance — 
gits  real  excited  an'  talks  quick,  what  language 
does  he  use?" 

"Oh,  his  own  first  tongue !  When  I'm  really 
angry,  I  always  begin  to  swear  in  Piedmont 
dialect." 

Rosalie  mused  aloud ;  and  in  that  musing  she 
cleared  up  for  us  one  of  her  mysteries  of 
method. 

"It  does  look  to  me,"  she  said,  "as  if  I'd 
wasted  a  lot  of  time  brushin'  up  my  Spanish 
with  the  Martinez  Phonograph  Method.  Still, 
it's  bound  to  help  here  and  there.  Listen,"  she 
addressed  Grimaldi,  "I  did  a  turn  once — never 
mind  what — on  the  Mexican  border — El  Paso, 
San  Antonio,  an'  places  like  that.  Circum 
stance  was  such  that  I  had  to  learn  as  much 
Spanish  as  I  could — my  business  called  for  it. 
I've  been  studyin'  it  again  lately.  You  under 
stand  Spanish,  don't  you?" 

"As  well  as  I  do  English." 

"Then,"  said  Rosalie  in  Spanish,  "how  does 
this  sound?  Is  it  good  conversational  Span 
ish?  Tell  me  what  you  think." 

"Well,"  said  Grimaldi,  "it  runs  all  right,  but 
any  one  would  know  you  weren't  Spanish  born. 


216  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Still,  it's  pretty  good,  and  I  suppose  you  could 
fool  a  Spaniard  for  a  few  words.  What  are 
you  trying  to  do — with  Spanish?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  replied  Rosalie  carelessly. 
"Well,  I  must  go  on.  Keep  him  shadowed,  an' 
when  you  git  anything  new,  you  know  where 
to  find  me.  Good-by." 

At  home  in  her  own  room  again,  Rosalie 
pondered  long,  a  nervous  finger  picking  at  a 
musing  lip — pondered  until  she  stood  frozen 
with  a  new  idea.  Those  rings  of  Miss  Es- 
trilla's — she  had  long  wanted  a  look  at  them. 
Especially  that  big  diamond  with  a  curious 
onyx  and  gold  setting  which  she  wore  on  her 
left  hand.  The  forgotten  visiting-cards  in 
wraps  laid  aside  at  the  door;  the  initials  on  a 
bag;  the  posy  in  a  ring — by  slight  clues  like 
these  she  had  found  the  way  to  old  roads  of 
the  mind  in  all  her  years  of  professional  en 
deavor.  Rosalie  had  noted  Miss  Estrilla's 
care  of  that  ring;  noted  how  she  washed  her 
hands  without  removing  it.  Chance,  there 
fore,  would  never  give  the  opportunity.  She 
herself  must  make  it.  She  meditated.  Again 


THE  PEREZ  FAMILY         217 

her  finger  stopped  its  drumming  on  her  lip, 
and  she  congealed  to  a  pose. 

"Molly,"  she  was  saying  to  the  maid  half 
an  hour  later,  "I  guess  I'll  take  up  Miss  Es- 
trilla's  dinner  to-night."  As  though  by  an 
afterthought,  she  picked  up  a  late  edition  of  an 
evening  newspaper  and  laid  it  on  the  edge  of 
the  tray. 

"I've  brought  your  dinner  myself,"  she  said 
to  Miss  Estrilla.  She  put  down  the  tray,  ad 
justed  the  napkin,  bolstered  the  invalid  with 
the  pillows,  and  took  up  a  cup  of  bouillon. 

"There  now,  I'll  help — oh,  dearie,  I'm  so 
sorry!"  For  Rosalie  had  stumbled  slightly  in 
approaching  the  couch,  and  the  bouillon  had 
splashed  over  the  napkin,  the  spread,  and  Miss 
Estrilla's  hands.  Rosalie  bubbled  apologies  as 
she  hurried  about  the  room,  getting  cloth,  tow 
els,  warm  water.  Miss  Estrilla  was  very  gra 
cious,  but  Rosalie  continued  to  apologize  as  she 
began  to  scrub  her  hands. 

"Didn't  burn  you,  did  it?"  asked  Rosalie. 

"No;  but  it's  very  sticky,"  replied  Miss  Es 
trilla. 

"I  can't  get  under  those  rings — let  me — 


218  THE  RED  BUTTON 

there,  my  dear."  Rosalie  deftly  removed  the 
rings,  laid  them  without  a  glance  on  the  edge 
of  the  tray,  and  continued  to  chatter  as  she 
scrubbed. 

"I  brought  you  ii£  the  evening  paper,"  she 
said.  "You  can't  read  it,  but  I  thought  you'd 
like  to  see  the  pictures  of  that  new  Spanish 
tenor  they're  makin'  all  the  fuss  over — you 
asked  me  about  him  *he  other  day.  Remem 
ber?"  She  had  finished  wiping  Miss  Estrilla's 
hands;  and  now  she  gave  her  the  newspaper, 
the  photograph  of  the  tenor  folded  to  the  front. 
Miss  Estrilla  took  the  bait.  She  moved  the 
paper  close  to  her  eyes.  In  that  second,  the 
deft  Rosalie  had  made  three  motions  and  used 
her  quick  perceptions.  There  was  a  line  inside 
the  big  ring: 

"Miguel  *  Victoria,  1873." 

"Now  we're  ready  for  dinner,"  said  Rosalie. 
"Shall  I  send  down  for  more  soup?  No?" 
Miss  Estrilla  seemed  in  that  moment  to  miss 
her  rings.  She  perceived  them  on  the  edge  of 
the  tray  and  slipped  them  on. 

Before  she  left,  Rosalie  spun  and  tied  an- 


THE  PEREZ  FAMILY          219 

other  thread  of  the  web  she  was  weaving  so 
deftly  and  yet  so  cautiously. 

"I  hate  even  to  mention  it,"  she  said,  "but 
I've  been  feelin'  them  comin'  on  to-day — my 
spells.  I  know  you  said  I  could  have  'em  in 
here  alone  with  you,  but  I  haven't  wanted  to 
bother  you.  I  sensed  the  beginnin'  of  one  this 
afternoon.  I  beat  it  this  time  by  workin'  hard 
an'  shuttin'  my  teeth.  If  it  really  gets  me — if 
I  can't  hold  it  off  any  longer — I'm  likely  to  be 
in  here  'most  any  time." 

Miss  Estrilla,  her  face  and  her  emotions  hid 
den  from  view  by  the  eye-shade,  answered  in  a 
voice  which  began  calmly,  evenly : 

"I  should  be  very  glad — whenever  you  wish!" 
There  was  a  little  break  on  the  last  word.  Ro 
salie  noted  this.  Something  was  evidently  at 
work  under  the  calm  surface.  Could  it  be 
eagerness  ? 

Rosalie  did  not  return  at  once  to  the  dining- 
room,  although  the  rattle  of  dishes  and  of  voices 
invited.  She  sought  her  own  apartment,  sat 
down  on  the  bed,  her  chin  in  her  hand — and 
began  talking  faintly  to  herself. 

"Identification  was  straight,  all  right.  It's 
them."  A  pause.  "Think  of  draggin'  moth- 


220  THE  RED  BUTTON 

er-love  into  such  a  thing!"  A  pause.  "Well, 
ain't  you  faked  with  this  mother  stuff  all  your 
life?  Looks  to  me  like  some  of  that  lady  busi 
ness  had  sunk  in."  Another  pause.  "But  I 
never  did  it  before  to  turn  a  trick  like  this." 
And  she  shuddered.  "I'm  a  softy — what  will 
I  ever  say  to  Martin — I  can't!" 

Twin  steps  sounded  on  the  stairs;  through 
the  half-open  door  came  two  voices — those  of 
Betsy-Barbara  and  Constance.  Evidently, 
they  had  paused  at  the  landing  on  their  way 
down  to  dinner. 

"You  mustn't  go  to  pieces  now,  dear.  You 
mustn't.  You  need  to  keep  every  ounce  of 
your  strength  for  the  triall" 

"But  it's  the  suspense!"  And  Constance's 
voice,  usually  so  soft  and  low,  was  shrill  with 
tension.  "Oh,  I  can't  go  down  and  face  peo 
ple.  I  have  to  hold  myself  in  all  the  time  to 
keep  from  screaming!  It's  killing  me!" 

"It'll  all  go  the  moment  you  get  into  the 
dining-room,"  Betsy-Barbara  promised. 
"Come,  dear.  You  must  eat!" 

The  voices  drifted  on.  Rosalie  raised  her 
face  from  her  hands. 

"Well,  it's  one  or  the  other,  ain't  it?"  she 


THE  PEREZ  FAMILY          221 

said  to  herself.     "But  my  God,  life's  awful — 
awful!" 

She  never  faltered  again.  She  forgot  that 
little  crisis,  as  we  all  forget  so  many  of  those 
momentary  crises  of  the  will  upon  which  hang 
great  ultimate  decisions.  Neither  she  nor  Con 
stance  realized,  when  all  was  over,  how  much 
depended  upon  those  few  words,  caught  by  ac 
cident  through  a  half -open  door.  Constance, 
indeed,  never  knew;  and  Rosalie  forgot. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A   CRITICAL    MOMENT 

TWO  days  later,  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon,  Rosalie  was  again  in  Miss  Es- 
trilla's  room  suffering  from  incipient  "control." 
Her  eyes  stared,  her  limbs  twitched. 

"Sorry,"  said  Rosalie,  on  her  entrance,  "but 
I've  got  it  again — an'  I  can't  beat  it.  Do  you 
mind  if  I  lock  the  door?  I  wouldn't  be  dis 
turbed  for  a  farm — don't  know  what  it  would 
do  to  me!"  She  plumped  down  into  a  chair, 
giving  a  yawn  which  shook  her  whole  body. 
Gradually  she  relaxed.  With  one  heaving  sigh 
she  settled  back.  Her  eyes  closed;  she  fell  as 
into  sleep.  And  presently  she  was  babbling 
first  in  the  baritone  of  Doctor  Carver  and  then 
in  the  liquid  accents  of  Laughing-Eyes. 

Let  me  omit  the  preliminaries.  They  dealt 
only  with  trivial  things — such  little  affairs  of 
the  house  as  occurred  to  the  mind  of  Rosalie 
Le  Grange,  working  in  flashes  under  her  sleep- 

222 


A  CRITICAL  MOMENT         223 

ing  exterior.  She  had  growled  and  babbled 
for  five  minutes  before  Laughing-Eyes  an 
nounced  suddenly : 

"The  lady  is  sick — the  pretty  lady.  Spirit 
wants  to  talk  to  the  lady.  Pretty  spirit.  I 
feel  like  a  great  big  queen  was  here — Vic — 
Vic — Victoria."  The  voice  of  Laughing- 
Eyes  stopped.  This  was  a  device  of  Rosalie's. 
She  wanted  to  listen.  And  the  microscopic 
ally  minute  thing  which  she  heard  satisfied  her. 
Miss  Estrilla  had  been  breathing  regularly. 
Now,  on  the  mention  of  that  name,  her  breath 
caught.  The  voice  of  Rosalie,  her  whole  facial 
expression,  her  manner — if  one  can  attribute 
manner  to  a  woman  who  appears  to  sleep — 
underwent  an  abrupt  change.  The  voice  deep 
ened;  the  lines  of  the  face  fell;  it  was  Doctor 
Carver  who  spoke. 

"Victoria  is  not  strong,"  said  the  voice;  "I 
sense  that  she  brings  consolation.  She  says 
that  things  are  bad;  but  they  will  be  better 
by  and  by.  It  is  a  mother's  influence.  Mig 
uel — "  here  Rosalie  stopped;  and  again  she 
noted  the  irregular  breathing  from  the  couch. 
It  was  an  eternal  quarter-minute  before  she 
spoke  again:  this  time  the  voice  was  a  man's, 


224  THE  RED  BUTTON 

but  lighter  and  higher  than  that  of  Doctor  Car 
ver  ;  and  it  spoke  Spanish. 

"I  ani  mate,  hijita  mial"  it  said,  and  died 
away.  A  silence  again.  "He  is  gone,"  said 
the  voice  of  Doctor  Carver.  "A  spirit  wants 
the  young  woman  who  lives  below  this  room — " 
The  seance  drifted  away  into  a  series  of  imagi 
nary  messages  for  Miss  Harding.  But  once 
again  Miguel  floated  into  the  talk,  dropped  a 
word  or  two  of  easily-pronounced  Spanish, 
floated  out  again.  Presently,  Doctor  Carver 
came  no  more;  the  babblings  of  Laughing- 
Eyes  became  disconnected  monosyllables,  and 
died  out  altogether.  Rosalie  lay  as  though 
asleep. 

She  lay  for  five  minutes;  she  lay  for  ten 
minutes.  "Won't  she  ever  wake  me  up?" 
thought  Rosalie. 

Miss  Estrilla  moved  now  and  then;  now  and 
then  her  breathing  caught.  And  suddenly — 
she  was  not  breathing  at  all.  Rosalie  steeled 
herself  for  the  shock  of  cold  water,  if  that  were 
to  be  the  awakening.  The  shock  came — but 
in  another  form. 

"I  am  going  to  kill  you!"  said  the  voice  of 
Miss  Estrilla  in  Spanish;  "I  am  pointing  a 


A  CRITICAL  MOMENT         225 

pistol  at  your  head!    Come  to  me — at  once — 
or  I  shall  fire !" 

Thirty  years  in  the  profession  which  deals 
with  deceits  both  minute  and  monstrous,  thirty 
years  of  emotions  simulated,  had  given  Rosalie 
one  great  practical  talent — control  of  mind, 
muscle  and  nerve.  It  had  given  her,  too,  a 
courage  born  of  self-confidence,  of  the  well- 
grounded  faith  that  she  could  master  any  situa 
tion.  It  had  modified  her  instincts;  it  had 
changed  nature.  Her  impulse,  under  sudden 
shock  of  surprise,  was  to  continue,  naturally 
and  easily,  just  what  she  had  been  doing. 
That  tided  her  over  the  moment  of  crisis.  Her 
eyes  remained  closed,  her  color  changed  not, 
her  breath  came  as  regularly  and  evenly  as 
before.  There  succeeded  the  critical  moment 
when  the  control  of  instinct  was  gone  and  the 
less  dependable  control  of  reason  reasserted 
itself.  That  was  hardest  of  all.  She  must 
remember  to  keep  her  breathing  regular,  and 
her  limbs  composed;  above  all — and  this  is  a 
feat  possible  only  to  an  actor  of  parts  or  a 
professional  medium — to  keep  the  color  in  her 
face.  She  accomplished  this  by  the  simple  de 
vice  of  sinking  her  chin  close  against  her  collar. 


226  THE  RED  BUTTON 

It  was  easier  as  the  moments  passed.  Nothing 
had  happened,  nor  was  there  any  movement 
on  the  couch.  It  became  certain  that  this  was 
a  test.  Rosalie  waited.  Her  left  foot  was 
falling  asleep. 

It  came  as  she  had  expected — the  second 
test.  Clearly  and  distinctly,  Miss  Estrilla 
said  in  English: 

"You  are  a  fraud.  I  am  pointing  a  revolver 
at  your  head.  Wake  and  hold  up  your  hands 
or  I  will  shoot  you!" 

Rosalie  slumbered  on  in  seeming;  and  this 
time  it  needed  no  effort  of  will.  But  the  foot 
sent  a  thousand  tiny  twinkles  of  pain  and  dis 
comfort  up  her  ankle.  She  was  meditating 
how  she  might  manage  a  natural  awakening, 
when  Miss  Estrilla  shook  her  and  said  in  her 
natural  voice: 

"Mrs.  Le  Grange!  Mrs.  Le  Grange! 
Wake  up!" 

Rosalie  came  to  full  consciousness  most  ar 
tistically  and  effectively. 

"What  was  it — dear  me,  my  foot's  asleep! 
Ow!"  she  said.  She  rose  and  hobbled  about 
the  room.  "Did  I  stay  out  long?  This  just 
takes  the  gimp  out  of  me — I  won't  be  fit  for 


A  CRITICAL  MOMENT         22T 

a  thing  to-morrow  an'  it's  scrub-day,  tool 
What  have  I  been  talkin'  about — or  did  I  talk 
at  all?  They've  told  me  that  sometimes  I 
never  say  a  word." 

"Oh,  a  great  many  things." 

"Well,  I  must  have,  I'm  that  tuckered  out. 
Excuse  me  for  askin',  but  was  it  about  anybody 
in  the  house?" 

"I  think  so."  Miss  Estrilla  paused. 
"There  were  a  few  words  for  me." 

"Indeed!  Well,  of  course  that's  natural, 
you  bein'  right  here.  Don't  set  too  much  store 
by  it,  my  dear.  Take  my  advice  and  don't  let 
yourself  get  to  dependin'  on  the  spirit.  You 
never  can  tell  how  it  will  act.  I  remember 
Mrs.  Blossom.  She's  dead  now,  but  she  was 
the  best  professional  I  ever  saw.  Well,  do  you 
know  I've  seen  her  sit  with  a  person  an'  never 
bring  a  spirit  that  person  wanted — they'd  all 
be  for  a  sitter  Mrs.  Blossom  had  yesterday. 
Then  again  she'd  bring  the  sitter's  own  spirits 
right  away.  More  often  a  person  had  to  come 
to  her  three  or  four  times  before  things  started. 
Some  sitters  draws  'em,  I  guess,  just  like  some 
mediums." 

Miss  Estrilla  pondered  a  time  upon  that, 


228  THE  RED  BUTTON 

while  Rosalie  made  Swedish  gymnastic  move 
ments  with  her  sleepy  foot.  Miss  Estrilla 
twice  set  her  lips  to  speak  before  the  words 
came. 

"You  did  bring  something  for  me,"  she  said ; 
"just  a  little — but  it  was  something  I  wanted 
to  know.  Do  you  think  you  can  find  more 
next  time,  if — " 

"Now,  my  dear!"  put  in  Rosalie,  "don't  ask 
me  that!  I  thought  you  were  sensible.  If 
I'd  thought  it  would  take  such  a  holt  on  you, 
guns  and  pistols  wouldn't  have  drove  me  into 
this  room  with  my  spells.  I  can't  tell  you  how 
hard  I've  been  tryin'  to  stop  this  thing,  which 
is  bothersome  to  say  the  best  about  it — let's 
unlock  the  door  while  I  think  about  it" — she 
crossed  the  room — "I've  old  sitters  hangin' 
round  every  week  beggin'  for  just  one  more 
demonstration,  but  I'm  firm.  I've  let  it  come 
these  two  or  three  times  just  because  I  couldn't 
help  it.  It  would  be  askin'  a  lot." 

"But  it  would  comfort  me,"  replied  the  in 
valid,  weakly ;  and  there  were  tears  in  her  voice. 
"And,  oh,  you  don't  know  how  I  need  com 
fort  1" 


A  CRITICAL  MOMENT         229 

"Poor  dear !  I  know  how  it  is.  You're  sick, 
an'  I  suppose  you  have  your  troubles — we  all 
have  in  this  world.  But  when  a  person's  sick, 
she  jest  lays  an'  lets  it  roll  up  in  her,  like. 
Well,  now,  let's  see — "  Rosalie  paused  as 
though  considering.  "Why  don't  I  want  to 
practise  any  more?  It's  the  name  an'  not  the 
game  that's  botherin'  to  me.  I  tell  you  what 
I'll  do.  I  won't  try,  an'  I  won't  force  it,  but 
seein'  this  is  private-like,  I'll  stop  resistin'  the 
influence  when  it  comes  over  me.  An'  I'll  al 
ways  beat  it  straight  here.  Perhaps  it  was  sent 
to  do  us  both  good!  That's  settled.  Now 
can't  I  do  any  thin'  for  you?" 

As  she  swept  about  the  room,  setting  things 
to  rights,  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  Ro 
salie  was  about  to  open  it,  when  an  exclama 
tion  from  Miss  Estrilla  stopped  her. 

"Listen,"  said  Miss  Estrilla;  "if  that  is  my 
brother,  say  nothing  to  him.  He  is — prej 
udiced." 

"Why,  of  course  not!"  replied  Rosalie. 
"An5  don't  you!  I'm  more  anxious  than  you 
can  be  to  keep  this  thing  shut  up.  I'm  the  one 
that's  got  something  to  lose." 


230  THE  RED  BUTTON 

It  was,  in  fact,  Molly  the  maid,  announcing 
the  doctor.  And  that  visit  gave  Rosalie  excuse 
to  withdraw. 

Rosalie  held  that  night  another  of  her  out 
door  conferences  with  Inspector  McGee. 

"Well,  I'm  comin'  out  with  it,"  she  an 
nounced.  "I've  got  to  tell  somebody.  Every 
body  confesses  at  least  once,  which  a  cop  knows 
better  than  I  do.  I  guess  I've  got  your  case 
started,  Martin  McGee !" 

"Then  this  fellow  Wade—" 

"You  make  me,"  said  Rosalie;  "you  make 
me  want  to  shut  my  mouth  an'  never  tell  you 
any  thin'  at  all.  Wade!  A  cop  can't  keep 
two  ideas  in  his  mind  at  one  an'  the  same  time, 
any  more'n  a  horse.  Martin  McGee,  you  listen 
an'  don't  you  say  a  word  until  I'm  through." 
With  a  logical  consecutiveness  almost  surpris 
ing  in  Rosalie,  she  started  her  case  from  the  be 
ginning.  Tommy  North's  clue  of  the  diamond 
ring  which  Tommy  North  had  dropped  and 
which  had  set  Rosalie  on  the  trail,  the  discovery 
that  the  coverlet  on  Captain  Hanska's  bed  had 
been  wet  with  rain  from  the  open  window — 

But  here  Inspector  McGee  broke  his  tacit 
pledge,  and  spoke. 


A  CRITICAL  MOMENT         231 

"I  explained  that!"  he  said.  "I  told  you 
they  opened  the  windows  to  let  in  air  after 
they  discovered  the  murder — when  that  Mrs. 
Moore  fainted." 

"Not  rememberin'  that  it  had  stopped  rainin' 
when  the  body  was  found — it  had  stopped  when 
I  came  in,"  replied  Rosalie. 

"Had  it?"  inquired  the  Inspector. 

"Now  who's  smart?"  crowed  Rosalie,  and 
she  proceeded  with  the  finding  of  the  little  red 
button  on  the  fire-escape,  the  discovery  that 
Miss  Estrilla  had  among  her  possessions  a  pair 
of  red  strapped  shoes  with  a  button  missing, 
and  the  final  fact — the  button  matched.  . 

Inspector  McGee  received  that  dramatic  in 
formation  with  a  long  whistle  of  amazement. 

"That  sick  woman!"  he  said.  "Gee,  and  I'd 
thought  of  examining  her.  But  there  didn't 
seem  to  be  a  chance  on  earth.  I'd  thought 
more  about  that  brother  of  hers.  But,  of 
course,  he'd  left  the  house  before  the  quarreling 
stopped — while  Captain  Hanska  was  alive — 
and  didn't  return  until  after  they  found  the 
body."  He  pondered  a  moment.  "But  that 
ain't  real  evidence — yet." 

"You  give  me  a  chance,"  replied  Rosalie. 


232  THE  RED  BUTTON 

She  pursued  her  narrative  then,  setting  forth 
her  discovery  that  Estrilla  was  an  assumed 
name  and  the  discoveries  of  Detective  Grimaldi 
about  the  history  of  the  Perez  family  in  Trini 
dad.  She  proceeded  then  to  the  seances,  and  to 
Miss  Estrilla's  attempt  at  frightening  her  out 
of  control. 

"An'  say,"  added  Rosalie,  "if  you  don't 
think  that  minute  or  so  was  about  the  tightest 
squeeze  I  ever  had,  you  miss  a  guess,  that's 
all.  Near  broke  me  in  two.  I  was  so  tuck 
ered  out  holdin'  on  to  myself  that  I  feel  it  yet. 
I  had  to  pretend  that  my  control  had  weak 
ened  me." 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  McGee. 

"Yes.     Ain't  it  enough?" 

"Well,  it's  suspicious.  But  there's  no  real 
evidence.  Nothing  you  can  convict  on.  Just 
because  one  of  her  shoe-buttons  was  found  on 
the  fire-escape,  and  she's  living  under  an  as 
sumed  name,  and  the  entrance  to  the  room  was 
through  the  window,  it's  no  proof  that  a  sick 
woman  came  down  the  fire-escape  and  killed 
a  big  man  standing  up  in  front  of  her.  You 
can't  make  a  jury  believe  that.  Suppose  I 


A  CRITICAL  MOMENT         233 

pinch  her — and  her  brother,  too — and  give  'em 
the  Third  Degree?" 

"See  here,  Martin  McGee,"  replied  Rosalie, 
"what  have  I  been  takin'  all  this  trouble  for, 
spendin'  my  good  time  to  get  her  to  believe 
I'm  a  medium,  if  I  ain't  to  be  trusted  to  run 
this  case?  You  can  have  your  Third  Degree 
afterward — when  I'm  through  with  mine." 

"That's  so,"  replied  McGee.  "Well,  any 
thing  I  can  do  to  help?" 

"Yes.  How  long  does  it  take  to  get  a  man 
to  Trinidad?  Or  is  there  anybody  in  Port  of 
Spain  that  you  can  use?" 

"I've  had  a  man  there  a  week.  Another 
case — missing  burglar." 

"That's  good.     Very  important?" 

"No.     I  guess  he  can  be  spared." 

"Luck's  with  us  if  nothin'  else.  This  is  a 
three-times  winnin'.  Now  you  just  cable  him 
— wait  a  minute,  I'll  write  the  message — got 
a  pencil  an'  paper?" 

They  were  in  a  side  street.  A  lamp-post 
threw  a  shaft  of  light  across  the  stoop  of  a 
vacant  house.  Rosalie  sat  herself  on  the  lowest 
step,  braced  the  note-book  which  McGee  pro- 


234  THE  RED  BUTTON 

duced,  and,  with  many  a  purse  of  lip  and  brow, 
composed  the  following  message : 

"Drop  anything  and  get  full  information 
on  the  late  Miguel  Perez,  cacao  grower  of  Port 
of  Spain,  and  his  family,  especially  Juan  his 
son,  and  a  daughter,  probably  half-sister  of 
Juan,  name  unknown.  Details  about  life  of 
the  family  especially  wanted  and  the  smaller 
the  better.  Learn  everything  you  can  about 
first  wife.  Suggest  pumping  old  family  serv 
ants.  Wire  in  full  as  you  get  the  dope." 

"There,"  concluded  Rosalie,  "an'  a  lot  I'm 
goin'  to  cost  New  York  City  for  cable  tolls." 

McGee  laughed  as  he  put  the  note-book 
carefully  in  his  inner  pocket. 

"There  are  several  jokes  on  me  to-night," 
he  said.  "Well,  if  it  turns  out  that  Wade 
didn't  do  it,  I'll  be  kinder  glad.  I've  hated 
that  fellow,  and  yet  I've  kind  of  come  to  re 
spect  him,  too.  Say,  this  is  one  case  where  you 
can't  keep  out  of  court  and  the  papers,  ain't 
it?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  replied  Rosalie;  "maybe 
I  can  fix  it  to  slip  out  and  leave  you  all  the 
credit — as  usual." 


A  CRITICAL  MOMENT         235 

The  dig  told. 

"Well,  I  never  asked  you  to,"  replied  In 
spector  McGee  in  some  confusion. 

"That's  right,"  acknowledged  Rosalie,  "but 
tellin'  you  about  it  once  in  a  while  keeps  you 
in  the  right  frame  of  mind." 

"Say,"  said  Martin  McGee,  returning  to  the 
main  subject,  "when  they  put  this  Estrilla 
woman  through — if  she's  the  one — I  can  see 
the  papers.  'Woman  against  woman.  Ex- 
medium  sends  victim  to  the — ' ' 

"Don't  say  that!"  exclaimed  Rosalie.  "For 
God's  sake,  don't !"  She  had  been  walking  el 
bow  to  elbow,  leaning  a  little  upon  him.  Now 
she  drew  away.  And  much  more  that  Martin 
McGee  had  intended  to  say,  remained  unsaid 
that  evening. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   FINAL,  TEST 

COULD  we  have  sat  with  Rosalie  Le 
Grange  through  thirty  years  of  her  "me- 
diumship,"  we  would  have  found  in  all  her 
assaults  on  the  secrets  of  the  human  heart  a 
certain  sameness.  There  are,  after  all,  only  a 
few  main  roads  to  the  intelligence  of  man 
and  woman.  Rosalie  traveled  these  roads 
again  and  again,  varying  the  method  only 
by  those  infinitesimal  shades  which  the 
artist  knows.  Her  approach  to  Senorita 
Perez — known  so  far  in  these  pages  as  Miss 
Estrilla — differed  in  no  essential  from  her  ap 
proach  to  a  thousand  love-lorn  shop-girls,  trou 
bled  mothers,  perplexed  business  men,  during 
her  thirty  years  in  her  old  trade.  She  simply 
refined  her  methods  a  little  for  Miss  Estrilla,  as 
she  had  done  always  for  her  "first-class  cus 
tomers." 

First,  there  was  the  approach;  a  mist  of 
236 


THE  FINAL  TEST  237 

hocus-pocus  illuminated  here  and  there  with 
the  glint  of  a  secret  surprising  fact  which 
the  medium  "could  not  possibly  know."  This 
was  a  period  wherein  the  dupe  was  always  un 
convinced  but  fascinated.  Some  professed  to 
be  amused ;  and  they  showed  it  by  giggles  which 
died  prematurely  into  long  silences.  Some 
pretended  to  be  unconvinced;  but  they  proved 
their  dawning  conviction  by  brutal  denials. 
Some  put  tests  to  her,  obvious  and  subtle,  ac 
cording  to  their  natures.  None  had  ever  at 
tempted  so  daring  and  so  clever  a  test  as  Miss 
Estrilla,  with  her  pretended  revolver;  and  this 
was  a  bit  of  evidence,  a  guide-post  which  would 
have  made  slender  appeal  to  Inspector  Martin 
McGee  or  to  any  jury  that  ever  sat  in  judg 
ment.  Yet  to  Rosalie,  skilled  in  weighing  fac 
tors  which  no  male  policeman  would  ever  per 
ceive,  adept  at  reading  whole  volumes  of  fact 
from  the  incidental  drooping  of  a  lip  or  lifting 
of  an  eyebrow,  this  was  the  most  pertinent  bit 
of  evidence  she  had  yet  discovered.  For  those 
who  had  most  to  conceal,  most  to  lose  by  the 
revelation  of  their  souls  to  a  blackmailer  or  a 
spy,  were  the  very  people  who  put  such  tests 
to  her;  and  the  harder  the  test,  she  had  always 


238  THE  RED  BUTTON 

found,  the  deeper  and  blacker  the  ultimate  se 
cret. 

Could  we  have  followed  Rosalie  through  all 
those  years,  we  should  have  discovered  another 
most  illuminating  fact — this  one  a  light  on  that 
contradictory  and  complex  character.  It  was 
her  impatience,  as  time  wore  on,  with  certain 
blasphemies  on  human  affection  which  she  had 
committed  lightly  during  the  period  of  her  be 
ginnings.  It  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  barter  with 
the  yearnings  of  parents  for  departed  children, 
of  bereaved  wives  for  the  husband  gone  before 
— with  man's  deepest  and  highest — and  all  for 
the  paltry  fee  of  a  discredited  profession.  In 
her  early  period,  Rosalie  had  committed  this  sin 
of  the  heart  lightly,  without  inner  blemish. 
Then — as  always  in  youth — her  morals  were 
the  morals  of  environment.  The  thoughts  of 
youth  are  not  voices,  but  echoes. 

When  the  time  came  for  her  to  think  on  her 
own  account,  when,  out  of  her  infinitely  diverse 
characteristics  she  began  to  form  character, 
Rosalie  Le  Grange  salved  her  conscience  with 
the  reflection  that  she  was,  after  all,  doing  these 
people  good;  that  she  never  hunted,  as  others 
did,  for  big  game;  that  she  took  only  a  legiti- 


THE  FINAL  TEST  239 

mate  fee  and  gave  in  return  consolation  and 
good  advice.  That  served  her  into  her  reflect 
ive  forties,  the  period  when  we  have  walked 
over  the  summit  of  life,  when  in  lonely  dawns 
and  wakeful  midnights  the  thought  of  man's  ul 
timate  end  pierces  all  our  meditations  on  the 
future.  In  those  somber  lights,  things  become 
plain  to  which  the  brilliant  light  of  full  active 
days  blinds  us.  And  Rosalie,  adept  at  read 
ing  other  hearts,  had  read  her  own. 

For  there  was  a  strong  streak  of  Scotch  in 
Rosalie.  From  the  race  of  warlocks  and 
dreamers  on  the  edge  of  the  infinite  had  she 
got  her  taste  and  talent  for  mysticism,  her  gen 
uine  clairvoyance — whatever  that  may  be. 
From  it  had  she  taken  her  love  for  mystery, 
her  deep  hidden  leaning  toward  romance. 
From  it,  finally,  had  she  taken  a  conscience 
which,  like  a  tree  wind-planted  in  the  cleft  of 
a  rock,  grew  and  matured  to  bear  fruit  in  spite 
of  an  adverse  environment.  In  these  forties, 
conscience  mastered  her.  She  could  no  longer 
traffic  with  grief  to  the  shame  of  her  own 
heart.  In  her  revelation  to  Martin  McGee  she 
had  concealed  one  fact,  as  it  was  her  habit  to 
conceal  the  very  springs  and  sources  of  her  ac- 


240  THE  RED  BUTTON 

tions.  It  was  that  she  had  left  the  business 
of  professional  "mediumship,"  when  a  turn  in 
her  romantic  life  brought  fortune,  for  con 
science  and  conscience  alone.  The  hidden  ex 
citement  and  romance  of  the  profession,  the 
contact  with  other  and  strange  minds,  the  op 
portunity  for  busybodying,  for  guiding  des 
tinies — all  these  appealed.  But  she  could  no 
longer  endure  the  treacheries  and  sacrileges  of 
her  own  method. 

Here,  now,  when  she  had  thought  to  put 
it  all  behind  her,  she  was  embarked  on  the  most 
treacherous  adventure  of  all.  She  was  play 
ing  with  human  affection,  not  for  the  ultimate 
comfort  and  consolation  of  the  dupe,  but  for 
an  end  which  she  dreaded  to  think  on.  She 
had  fought  that  out,  it  is  true,  on  the  afternoon 
when  she  heard  through  the  half-open  door 
Constance's  weak  appeal  to  Betsy-Barbara. 
She  faltered  no  more — except  in  her  lonely 
communings  with  herself — but  her  very  dis 
taste  for  the  work  drove  her  to  hasten  it,  as 
one  drinks  a  noxious  draught  at  a  single  mouth 
ful.  Under  the  pretense  that  her  obsession  was 
driving  her,  that  she  had  bottled  it  up  too  long, 
that  "it  just  had  to  come  out  of  her,"  Rosalie 


THE  FINAL  TEST  241 

Le  Grange  multiplied  the  seances  with  Miss 
Estrilla  to  the  point  of  danger  and  incau- 
tion. 

On  the  second  day  after  the  session  in  which 
Miss  Estrilla  had  tried  the  test  of  the  fictitious 
revolver,  she  was  back  again.  This  time — hav 
ing  assurance  that  this  was  the  true  line  of  at 
tack — she  brought  both  Victoria  and  Miguel. 
Victoria,  according  to  Doctor  Carver,  was  the 
stronger;  she  spoke  much,  though  vaguely. 
Miguel  dropped  only  a  few  phrases — now 
Spanish,  now  English.  During  this  session, 
Miss  Estrilla  never  moved  nor  spoke.  But 
Rosalie,  daring  a  look  at  her  through  her  long 
lashes,  perceived  that  her  attitude  was  tense, 
rapt. 

In  such  long  preliminary  passages  with  a 
difficult  sitter  (Rosalie's  experience  had  taught 
her)  there  is  a  certain  moment  when  the  dupe 
crosses  the  line  between  prudence  and  absolute 
credulity.  In  a  quiet  self-contained  person 
like  Miss  Estrilla,  this  moment  comes,  gener 
ally,  with  the  first  question.  After  that,  the 
course  is  as  easy  as  lying.  The  dupe,  once  the 
defenses  are  broken,  is  eager  to  believe.  -Where 
before  the  skeptical  mind  turned  every  new  and 


242  THE  RED  BUTTON 

irregular  fact  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  me 
dium,  now  the  eager  mind  turns  every  fact  to 
her  advantage.  "Every  sheet's  a  ghost,"  Ro 
salie  had  remarked  time  and  again.  "Hardest 
thing  is  hold  'em  back.  There's  nothin'  they 
can't  swallow."  In  this,  her  third  seance,  Ro 
salie  was  proceeding  as  cautiously  as  an  ele 
phant  on  a  bridge,  waiting  for  that  first  and 
vital  question. 

It  came  at  the  fourth  sitting. 

By  this  time,  Rosalie  had  begun  to  receive 
cable  reports  from  Port  of  Spain.  The  detec 
tive,  it  appeared,  was  a  policeman  of  singu 
lar  fidelity  or  of  singular  acumen.  Taking  lit 
erally  the  order  about  "little  details,"  he  had 
filed  one  of  the  most  curious  despatches  in  the 
annals  of  the  New  York  Police  Department. 
It  glittered  with  gems  for  Rosalie  Le  Grange. 
Especially  was  it  strong  in  facts  concerning 
Miss  Estrilla's  relations  with  her  father.  Their 
rides  together  when  she  was  a  little  girl  and 
the  family  was  conspicuous  on  the  island,  the 
circumstance  of  an  accident  to  one  of  the  horses, 
even  pet  names  and  small  coin  of  domestic 
intercourse — all  this  he  set  forth  fully.  Be 
yond  doubt,  he  had  found  the  "old  family  serv- 


THE  FINAL  TEST  243 

ant"  mentioned  in  the  telegram  of  instruction 
and  milked  him  dry. 

So  at  this  fourth  seance  Rosalie  brought  not 
Miguel — that  were  too  great  a  strain  on  her 
Spanish — but  Victoria — introduced  her,  as 
usual,  with  vague  sentences,  growing  always 
more  definite,  and  crystallizing  finally  into  the 
vital  startling  fact.  Rosalie  was  speaking 
freely  now,  her  pose  that  of  a  dead  trance. 

"Do  you  remember,"  she  asked,  "the  time 
they  carried  you  home,  as  though  you  were 
dead,  from  the  stable,  and  you  revived  and 
spoke  to  me  when  they  brought  you  in  the 
door?  Do  you  remember — Margy  dear?" 
The  telegram  from  Detective  Hawley  had  in 
formed  Rosalie  that  the  baptismal  name  of 
Miss  Estrilla — or  Miss  Perez — was  Margarita; 
and  that  her  mother  used  the  name  in  its  Eng 
lish  form  and  her  father  in  Spanish. 

"Do  you  remember,  Margy  dear?"  repeated 
the  voice  of  the  "spirit"  through  the  entranced 
lips  of  Rosalie  Le  Grange. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Estrilla,  so  suddenly  that 
it  nearly  shook  Rosalie  out  of  trance.  "I  re 
member,  mother  dear.  What  was  his  name — 
that  horse?" 


244  THE  RED  BUTTON 

("Still  a  little  skeptical;  but  it's  the  last 
gasp.  I'll  fix  her  right  now.  Lucky  I've  got 
it!"  said  the  mind  of  Rosalie  Le  Grange  work 
ing  rapidly  behind  her  mask. ) 

"We  had  Billy  and — but  it  wasn't  he — it 
was  that  black  horse  Vixen  which  you  would 
ride  against  my  wishes!"  said  the  voice.  Ro 
salie  heard  Miss  Estrilla  heave  a  long  sigh; 
heard  her  settle  herself  against  the  pillows  as 
though  quite  overborne  by  emotion. 

But  Rosalie  did  not  proceed  directly  along 
the  road  of  treacheries  which  she  was  traveling. 
Victoria  went  away  with  the  capricious  sud 
denness  of  all  Rosalie's  spirit  friends.  The 
voice  of  Laughing-Eyes,  the  child  control, 
burst  in.  Upon  Miss  Estrilla,  Rosalie  used 
Laughing-Eyes  sparingly.  With  an  ignorant 
and  overimpressionable  sitter  she  was  an  in 
valuable  feature,  this  Laughing-Eyes.  To  a 
person  of  greater  discernment,  the  child  imper 
sonation  was  likely  to  be  ridiculous.  Rosalie 
usually  employed  her,  therefore,  only  to  fill 
in  the  chinks,  to  occupy  the  time  while  she 
was  thinking.  For  Rosalie,  after  thirty  years 
of  experience,  produced  Laughing-Eyes  with 


THE  FINAL  TEST  245 

her  left  hand,  so  to  speak.  The  child  patter 
came  by  instinct;  it  required  no  effort  of  the 
conscious  will;  her  mind  was  free  to  think  and 
plan.  Now,  however,  she  wove  Laughing- 
Eyes  into  her  web. 

"Lady  is  gone!"  said  Laughing-Eyes. 
"Pretty  lady!  Another  spirit — oh — I  see 
pretty  things!  They  shine — oh — go  away. 
Come  back!  No,  he  will  not  stay,"  she  paused 
here. 

And  now  Miss  Estrilla  spoke  again,  and  in 
such  a  tone  that  Rosalie  knew  she  might  hurry 
to  her  climax. 

"Can't  you  bring  him  back,  Laughing- 
Eyes?"  she  said.  "Oh,  please  bring  him  back. 
Tell  him,  oh,  tell  him  that  I  am  not  angry!" 
A  dry  sob  shook  the  silences  of  the  room. 

"No.  He  is  afraid.  And  he  is  weak  in 
spirit!"  babbled  Laughing-Eyes.  "Maybe  he 
will  come  again — maybe!"  And  Laughing- 
Eyes  giggled  and  babbled  of  Miguel  and  Vic 
toria  and  a  dozen  spirits  impertinent  to  Miss 
Estrilla.  Yet  always  in  her  babblings  she 
seemed  to  hold  the  atmosphere  of  truth;  she 
referred  casually  and  in  remote  ways  to  a  dozen 


246  THE  RED  BUTTON 

facts  about  Miss  Estrilla's  family  and  her  past. 
Presently  her  voice  died  away ;  and  Rosalie  lay 
silent  and  impassive,  waiting  for  Miss  Estrilla 
to  wake  her. 


CHAPTER  XV 

JOHN    TALKS 

IN  the  following  seance — held  the  next  after 
noon  at  the  special  and  plaintive  request 
of  Miss  Estrilla — Rosalie  Le  Grange  reached 
at  last  the  very  kernel  of  the  matter. 

She  brought  ''John." 

She  had  prepared,  by  a  special  and  sub 
sidiary  line  of  play,  for  this  vital  move.  She 
had  been  cultivating  Constance  Hanska. 
With  arts  all  her  own,  Rosalie  broke  through 
the  reserves  of  that  distressed  widow.  From 
discussion  of  the  murder,  Rosalie  led  her  on  to 
details  of  her  married  life.  From  that,  she 
lured  Constance  into  deeper  confidences,  which 
involved  the  personal  peculiarities  of  the  late 
Captain  Hanska,  such  as  his  way  of  speaking, 
the  quality  of  his  voice,  and  his  methods  with 
women.  When  Rosalie  settled  down  to  the 
fifth  seance,  she  had  in  her  mind  a  picture  of 

247 


248  THE  RED  BUTTON 

John  H.  Hanska  which  was  good  enough  for 
any  of  her  purposes. 

The  preliminaries  were  over;  Laughing- 
Eyes  had  gone  her  babbling  way  back  to  the 
land  of  spirit;  Doctor  Carver  held  control. 

"A  spirit  has  been  trying  to  communicate, 
but  he  is  a  new  spirit  and  not  yet  strong.  He 
says  that  the  lady's  sickness  is  not  of  the  body. 
It  is  of  the  mind.  He  also  is  not  happy  yet. 
John  was  his  name  on  the  flesh-plane — it  is 
hard — we  over  here  must  make  an  effort — it 
is  a  strain  on  us  as  on  the  medium — I  get  an 
'H.' '  In  the  ensuing  silence,  Miss  Estrilla 
gave  one  hard  sob. 

The  silence  lasted  for  half  a  minute.  Rosa 
lie  strained  and  struggled  as  though  a  tumult 
were  going  on  within.  Then  came  a  man's 
voice,  higher  and  softer  than  that  of  Doctor 
Carver. 

"I  am  John,  Margaret.  I  can  not  stay  long. 
I  am  not  strong — they  tell  us  over  here — that 
we  must  forgive — even  as  we  are  forgiven. 
But — I  will  come  again — 

"Oh,  John — I  am  trying  to  forgive — oh, 
do  you  understand — wait — "  gasped  Miss  Es 
trilla. 


JOHN  TALKS  249 

But  John  spoke  no  more. 

"He  may  grow  stronger  after  a  time,"  said 
the  voice  of  Doctor  Carver,  "if  this  poor  earth 
vessel  through  which  we  speak  does  not  break." 
So  he  finished  the  pertinent  part  of  that 
session. 

The  seances  were  coming  every  day  now. 
Miss  Estrilia  wished  it;  and  Rosalie  granted 
her  request  with  an  appearance  of  indulgent 
reluctance.  The  next  day,  John  intruded 
again.  This  time,  it  appeared,  he  had  grown 
strong  enough  to  speak  consecutively. 

"I  have  not  full  power  yet.  But  it  is  com 
ing.  I  grow  stronger.  But  the  shock  iv  my 
breast — I  feel  it."  That  was  something  of  a 
venture.  Rosalie  waited  to  see  what  reply  it 
would  draw. 

The  reply  came,  quick  and  puzzling : 

"Did  that  come  first  then?  Oh,  surely  you 
didn't  feel  that?"  asked  Miss  Estrilla  as  though 
in  a  fever  of  anxiety. 

Rosalie,  thinking  like  lightning,  felt  herself 
for  the  moment  at  her  wits'  ends.  Upon  the 
answer  to  that  cryptic  question  everything 
might  depend.  It  were  best,  she  concluded,  to 
humor  Miss  Estrilla;  to  give  her  what  she 


250  THE  RED  BUTTON 

wanted,  but  to  make  the  wording  vague.  She 
let  her  body  heave,  as  though  John  were  re 
taining  his  control  with  difficulty. 

"No,"  said  the  voice,  "that  was  not  first.  It 
had  come  already.  But,  somehow — I  knew." 

"Oh,  thank  God!"  cried  Miss  Estrilla. 

John  departed  on  this.  Doctor  Carver  and 
Laughing-Eyes  spread  clouds  of  mist,  intel 
lectual  but  rosy.  They  went;  Rosalie  entered 
that  apparent  sleep  with  which  she  concluded 
her  "trances."  As  she  lay  there,  with  nothing 
to  do  but  think,  this  new  perplexity  revolved 
itself  in  her  mind.  What  meant  that  sudden 
question — "Did  that  come  first?"  The  trail 
was  leading  into  wildernesses  of  which  she  had 
never  dreamed. 

Rosalie  held  three  more  seances  with  Miss 
Estrilla  before  she  reached  the  final  vital  one 
to  which  all  her  diplomacies  had  been  leading. 
Let  me  omit  the  lumber  and  packing,  as  yawns, 
mumblings,  long  passages  of  sleep,  solemn  ora 
tions  of  Doctor  Carver,  babblings  of  Laugh 
ing-Eyes,  revelations  concerning  the  family 
life  of  Miguel  and  Victoria.  Let  me  but  re 
port  those  little  dialogues  between  John  in 
the  spirit,  and  Miss  Estrilla  (or  Margarita 


JOHN  TALKS  251 

Perez)  in  the  flesh,  to  which  this  hocus-pocus 
was  only  an  approach. 

•          •••••• 

John  is  speaking  through  the  lips  of  Rosa 
lie  Le  Grange ;  and  Miss  Estrilla  is  answering. 

"I  am  stronger  now.  The  flesh  influence  is 
not  yet  gone  from  me.  There  was  much  on 
my  soul.  I  find  it  hard  to  forgive.  And  I 
know  I  must — little  lady."  Rosalie  had 
learned  from  Constance  that  "little  lady"  was 
Captain  Hanska's  pet  name  for  woman  in  ten 
der  relations,  and  she  let  it  out  as  a  venture. 

"Oh,  John!  But  consider  how  much  I  have 
to  forgive.  Ah,  did  you  ever  love  me?  You 
never  answered  my  letters." 

"I  loved  you  perhaps  too  much.  Over  here, 
we  can  not  lie.  I  was  carried  away — and  I 
was  married — " 

"Yes.  Every  one  knows  that  now.  You 
deceived  me.  It  is  harder  for  me  to  forgive 
that  than  the  other  thing." 

"Yes — but  I  loved  you  too  much — to  risk 
telling  you." 

"Was  that  why  you  kept  the  jewels,  then?" 
A  hard  attack  came  into  Miss  Estrilla's  tone. 
It  was  more  than  a  question;  there  was  irony 


252  THE  RED  BUTTON 

in  it.  Rosalie  thought  rapidly.  That  dia 
mond  buckle  on  the  stair-case — "the  jewels" — 
here  was  a  startling  new  correlation  of  facts. 
She  must  venture  no  further;  she  must  have 
time  to  imagine  and  to  plan. 

"I  can  not  tell  you  now,"  said  the  voice  of 
John.  "I  am — growing  weak — I  sinned — " 

"Oh,  he's  gone  away!"  broke  in  the  voice  of 
Laughing-Eyes. 

..«••«• 

Another  seance.  John  is  speaking,  Miss 
Estrilla  answering. 

"Ah,  I  really  love  you.  But  I  find  it  hard 
to  forgive." 

"Don't  you  understand,  John,  that  it  wasn't 
revenge?  It  was  duty." 

"I  know.  There  is  much  that  I  do  not  un 
derstand,  but  I  do  understand  that.  In  the 
flesh,  I  was  always  attracted  by  the  glitter  of 
jewels — "  This  was  a  lead  into  territory  only 
partially  explored.  And  the  road  opened. 

"I  think  there  were  two  parts  of  you,  John. 
But,  oh,  the  better  part  loved  me,  did  it  not?" 

"Yes,  loved  you  truly,  little  lady." 

"John,  if  you  had  stolen  them  outright — but 
to  use  my  love!" 


JOHN  TALKS  253 

"I  am  going.  I  am  not  strong  enough  yet 
to  endure  reproach — " 

"Oh,  I  will  not  reproach  you  again.  You 
must  forgive.  You  know  how  little  you  have 
to  forgive.  Wait,  John,  wait!" 

**•••*• 

John  is  speaking  again:  Miss  Estrilla  re 
plies. 

"They  give  me  new  strength  every  day. 
But  this  poor  ignorant  woman  is  weakening. 
Why  did  you  try  to  get  them  as  you  did?" 

"What  was  I  to  do  when  I  found  I  had  no 
claim  under  the  law  ?  What  was  I  to  do  after 
you  wrote  me  that  letter?" 

"That  happened  before  I  passed  out.  I 
could  not  see  you  then.  And  I  have  not  seen 
any  one  clearly.  I  am  not  like  the  better 
spirits.  My  soul  was  not  good  when  it  left  the 
flesh.  But  I  think  you  came  to  New  York 
just  to  get  the  jewels." 

(This  was  a  venture  on  Rosalie's  part;  still 
there  were  ways  of  retrieving  the  mistake  if  her 
guess  was  wrong. ) 

"Yes.  It  was  my  plan,  not  Juan's.  I  have 
been  more  foolish  than  he.  Every  day  I  spent 
in  the  room  above  you  I  was  afraid  you  would 


254  THE  RED  BUTTON 

discover  me.  Yet  when  I  thought  of  you  down 
there — I  loved  you  still!  But  my  eyes  were 
really  sick.  It  was  because  I  cried  so  much — 
but  I  promised  not  to  reproach  you." 

"Little  lady — I  was  bad,  but  I  loved  you. 
I  think  if  I  had  seen  you,  I  would  have  re 
stored  them.'* 

"Oh,  John !  That  is  hardest  of  all !  If  you 
had — you  might  have  died — but  we  would  have 
been  saved  this — and  your  conscience  would 
have  been  right.  And  John,  I  can  not  die  and 
[join  you  now — I  dare  not — because  it  would 
be  wrong — and  because  of  Juan!" 

Rosalie  noted  how  the  name  of  Juan  came 
in  again.  For  caution,  she  must  veer  away 
from  that  lead  at  present. 

"I  think  that  I  felt  you  near  me  at  times." 

"Did  you,  John?  Did  you  know  I  was  in 
your  room  once  when  you  were  asleep?  Do 
you  remember  how  you  slept  through  the  fire 
at  home  ?  That  was  why  I  dared.  There  was 
light  on  your  face.  I  wanted  to  kiss  it." 

"If  you  had — and  wakened  me!" 

"If  I  had— if  I  only  had!"  Miss  Estrilla 
wept  bitterly ;  the  voice  of  John  answered  with 
caressing  reassuring  words. 


JOHN  TALKS  255 

"But  John,  why  can  you  not  forgive  ?  Don't 
you  know  all?"  continued  Miss  Estrilla  when 
she  had  control  of  her  voice. 

"Not  all.  We  do  not  wake  to  the  spirit  at 
once.  After  the  shock,  we  are  in  a  mist  for  a 
time.  I  knew  nothing  until  I  was  looking 
down  on  the  people  who  surrounded  my  body 
— a  long  time  after.  Then  there  were  mists 
and  dark  spots.  I  saw  one  of  the  jewels  on 
the  floor  beside  the  door.  I  could  not  see  you 
— nor  Juan.  I  must  know — this  is  hard — I 
am  growing  weak — " 

"Wait,  John,  wait!"  cried  Miss  Estrilla,  for 
the  first  time  losing  control  of  herself.  "John! 
Come  back!  You  must  come  back!  I've 
something  to  tell  you  that's  killing  me !  John, 
John,  you  must  know  that  he  didn't  mean  to 
do  it!" 

With  all  the  will-power  that  she  had,  Rosa 
lie  kept  herself  from  the  slightest  movement 
when  she  heard  that  simple  startling  pronoun, 
"he."  It  was  time  to  close  this  seance.  She 
summoned  Laughing*Eyes,  who  bade  Miss 
Estrilla  good-by  in  a  weak  failing  tone;  she 
settled  into  her  concluding  "trance." 


256  THE  RED  BUTTON 

In  the  last  two  sittings,  Rosalie  had  been 
awakening  from  trance  of  her  own  accord. 
Now,  she  slumbered  on  for  two  or  three  minutes 
before  she  let  her  eyes  flutter  open;  her  face 
resume  expression. 

Miss  Estrilla  had  controlled  her  weeping. 
To  Rosalie's  cheerful,  "Well,  was  I  out  long?" 
she  returned  no  answer.  Rosalie  looked  at  her 
sharply. 

"I'm  afraid  you  shouldn't  do  this  any  more 
— in  your  state  of  nerves,"  she  said.  "Only 
reason  I've  kept  it  up  was  because  it  seemed 
to  be  doin'  you  so  much  good.  But  to-day  you 
look  all  tuckered  out.  An'  me — a  wet  rag  is 
cast-iron  beside  my  feelin'  this  minute.  Tell 
me — was  it  long  after  I  stopped  talking  before 
I  woke  up?" 

"No.    It  was  shorter  than  ever  before." 

"M-hm!  Well,  those  that  know  me  better 
than  I  know  myself  have  watched  my  trances. 
They  say  that  when  I  wake  up  soon  after  the 
spirits  go,  it  means  just  one  thing — it  seems 
I'm  runnin'  down.  This  mediumship  is  like 
a  bucket  in  the  rain.  You  pour  out  the  water, 
an'  you've  got  to  wait  a  while  for  the  bucket 
to  fill  again.  When  I  begun  sittin'  with  you, 


JOHN  TALKS  257 

I  had  more  in  me  than  I  thought.  Fact  is,  I'd 
just  begun  to  overflow,  which  is  why  I  couldn't 
stop  that  first  trance  from  comin'.  But  now 
it's  about  spilled  out.  Trance  ain't  a  relief  any 
longer.  It's  been  a  strain  on  me  for  three  sit- 
tin's,  an'  now  that  it's  beginnin'  to  tell  on  you, 
we'd  both  better  stop  it,  I  guess." 

But  Miss  Estrilla  raised  the  eye-shade;  and 
Rosalie  saw  that  she  was  weeping  again.  "Oh, 
just  another!"  she  pleaded.  "Couldn't  you, 
Mrs.  Le  Grange?  There  was  something  more 
I  wanted  to  ask.  Something,"  she  went  on, 
"which  would  seem  trivial  to  you.  But  to 
me—" 

"Now,  my  dear,"  interrupted  Rosalie,  "I 
don't  want  to  know  anything  about  what  the 
spirits  are  sayin'  to  you.  That's  your  secret." 
She  appeared  to  hesitate  over  a  decision. 
"Now,  I'll  teU  you  what  I'll  do.  I've  prob 
ably  got  jest  about  one  more  sittin'  in  me,  an' 
then  I'll  be  through.  Sometimes,  by  sort  of 
reachin'  out  toward  the  spirit  on  the  night  be 
fore — I  can't  make  you  understand,  I  guess, 
you  not  bein'  mediumistic — I  can  make  the 
trance  stronger — bring  more,  they  tell  me.  I'll 
git  in  touch  with  the  spirit  to-night,  an'  I'll  set 


258  THE  RED  BUTTON 

with  you  to-morrow  for  the  last  time  this  spell. 
Then  I  must  quit.  I'm  keepin'  a  boardin'- 
house,  not  practisin'  professional." 

"I'm  very  grateful,"  said  Miss  Estrilla, 
"more  grateful  than  you  can  ever  understand." 

"I  know  you  are.  That's  why  I'm  doin' 
this,  I  suppose,"  said  Rosalie.  "There  ain't 
any  too  much  gratitude  in  this  world. 

"Why,  I  feel  as  weak  as  water — an'  I  must 
look  after  the  ironin',  too,"  she  added  as  she 
moved  listlessly  toward  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A   STROKE   OF   LUCK 

WE  come  now  to  the  most  crowded  and 
significant  day  in  all  the  crowded  life  of 
Rosalie  Le  Grange,,  When  she  told  of  it  after 
ward  to  the  only  person  who  ever  enjoyed  her 
full  confidence,  she  gave  but  a  narrative  of 
flashes  and  snatches — a  pertinent  fact,  out  of 
its  context,  at  one  session,  a  state  of  emotion  at 
another.  Rosalie  was  logical  and  consecutive 
only  when  the  long  slow  road  of  reason  would 
serve  her  purpose  better  than  the  short  cut  of 
intuition.  'But,  indeed,  there  is  in  this  world 
hardly  a  mind  so  logical  and  consecutive,  so 
cool  and  precise,  as  to  be  equipped  for  follow 
ing  closely  and  recording  accurately  a  course 
such  as  Rosalie  followed  that  day.  Can  you 
remember  exactly  what  happened,  all  details 
in  order,  on  the  night  when  you  found  the  bur 
glar  in  your  room,  the  day  when  you  were 
injured  in  the  train  wreck?  Multiply  such 

259 


260  THE  RED  BUTTON 

dramatic  incident  on  dramatic  incident,  such 
emotional  crisis  on  emotional  crisis — and  small 
wonder  that  Rosalie  could  never  weave  a  con 
secutive  narrative. 

We  begin,  indeed,  with  Rosalie  Le  Grange 
out  of  the  stage  picture.  We  are  in  the  office 
of  the  Thomas  W.  North  Advertising  Agency 
in  lower  Fifth  Avenue.  Tommy  North  sits 
at  a  cheap  but  neat  desk,  brand-new  like  all  the 
furnishings  of  that  little  old  office.  He  is 
laboring  for  an  accurate  and  arresting  head 
line  to  proclaim  the  safety,  and  yet  the  deadli- 
ness,  of  a  new  automatic  revolver.  At  the 
typewriter  desk  in  the  corner  sits  Betsy-Bar 
bara  Lane,  inexpertly  tapping  the  keys  with 
two  ringers  of  her  right  hand  and  one  of  her 
left.  And  as  Betsy-Barbara  smiles  trium 
phantly  over  this  fair  line,  frowns  at  that  foul 
one,  purses  her  lips  over  the  other  hard  com 
bination,  her  radiance  fills  and  illuminates 
the  Thomas  W.  North  Advertising  Agency. 

From  inception  to  interior  furnishings,  it  is 
all  Betsy-Barbara.  Hers  was  the  choice  and 
placing  of  the  green  Mission  furniture.  Hers 
was  the  selection  of  the  pictures,  their  arrange 
ment  in  relation  to  the  wall  spaces.  That  it 


A  STROKE  OF  LUCK          261 

might  be  a  pleasant  place  for  work,  she  picked 
out  prints  of  her  favorite  pictures — the  Coun 
tess  Potolka,  the  Baby  Stuart  and  the  Duchess 
of  Devonshire.  To  give  it  a  business  air,  she 
added  a  framed  photograph  of  the  Union  Sta 
tion  in  St.  Louis.  Further,  Betsy-Barbara 
found  the  most  spectacular  specimens  of  ad 
vertising  design  executed  by  Thomas  W. 
North,  set  them  in  passe-partouts  with  her  own 
hands,  and  hung  them  just  where  they  would 
invite  the  eye  and  confidence  of  customers. 
She  remembered  also  the  soul  needs  of  Mr. 
Thomas  W.  North  himself.  In  the  interstices 
of  the  decorations  she  placed  such  mottoes  as 
she  deemed  best  for  him,  as  "Do  it  Now"; 
"Industry  is  Happiness";  and,  most  significant 
of  all  to  one  who  understood  the  reason  for  the 
Thomas  W.  North  Agency,  "It's  What  You 
Do  After  Business  Hours  That  Gives  You 
Nervous  Prostration."  Finally,  to  all  these 
decorations  she  had  added  more  and  more  fre 
quently  of  late  her  own  illumined  self. 

For  life,  what  time  she  was  not  busy  with 
the  solace  of  Constance,  hung  heavy  nowadays 
on  the  capable  hands  of  Betsy-Barbara.  Just 
when  she  realized  that  what  she  needed  was 


262  THE  RED  BUTTON 

work^  she  found  that  the  correspondence  of  the 
Thomas  W.  North  Agency  was  getting  greater 
than  Tommy  himself  could  handle.  She  an 
nounced  at  once  her  intention  of  learning  the 
typewriter  and  doing  that  work  herself — all 
for  the  good  of  the  enterprise.  To  this  pro 
posal,  Tommy  entered  a  protest  of  conscience; 
but  the  thought  that  he  would  see  Betsy-Bar 
bara  in  office  hours  as  well  as  out  rendered  it 
very  feeble.  So  Betsy-Barbara  fell  to  work 
on  the  second-hand  typewriter;  and  she  had 
so  far  progressed  that  she  could  write  a  pass 
ably  good  business  letter  in  four  attempts  and 
a  morning's  time. 

On  this  scene  of  brisk  business  activity  sud 
denly  entered  Rosalie  Le  Grange.  As  she 
stepped  into  the  door,  she  was  large-eyed,  seri 
ous,  a-quiver  with  inner  intensity.  She  broke 
into  a  smile,  however,  as  she  surveyed  the 
Thomas  W.  North  Advertising  Agency  at 
work.  Both  Tommy  and  his  amateur  stenog 
rapher  had  heard  the  steps ;  but  each,  as  people 
will  do  when  they  are  intent,  failed  to  look  up 
from  his  uncompleted  line  until  startled  by 
Rosalie's : 

"My !     Such  a  pair  of  little  workers !" 


A  STROKE  OF  LUCK          263 

Tommy  grinned. 

"Ah,  a  customer!"  he  said;  "business  bad 
at  the  boarding-house?  Anything  I  can  do  to 
advertise  you?  I  recommend  our  A  A  Cam 
paign — cheap  and  fetching  for  establishments 
of  your  class.  How's  this  for  a  line:  'Our 
eggs  straight  from  the  hen — our  coffee  grew  on 
a  vine — our  boarders  stay  till  they  die.' ' 

"No,  thank  you,"  replied  Rosalie,  dimpling 
upon  him.  And  then,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
has  no  time  to  waste  in  airy  persiflage,  "I'm 
here  on  business,  though.  Mr.  North,  I  want 
to  borrow  the  services  of  your  stenographer 
for  a  day." 

"Me?"  inquired  Betsy-Barbara. 

"You,"  replied  Rosalie  Le  Grange.  She 
turned  back  to  Tommy  North  then;  and  the 
flash  of  her  dimples  disarmed  any  possible  re 
sentment. 

"Mr.  North,  haven't  you  got  five  or  ten 
minutes  of  business  somewhere  else?  Like 
buying  your  day's  cigars  or  something  ?  When 
two  ladies  want  to  talk  something  over  alone, 
they  hate  to  talk  in  the  hall." 

"Oh,  certainly,"  replied  Tommy  North,  ris 
ing  and  reaching  for  his  coat. 


264  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"It  ain't  every  young  boarder,"  said  Rosalie 
Le  Grange,  "who  is  intelligent  enough  to  let 
his  landlady  boss  him.  Now  you  be  back  in 
just  ten  minutes  by  the  clock,  that's  an  obedient 
boy." 

Tommy  cast  one  look  at  Betsy-Barbara  as 
he  went  out  of  the  door;  and  Betsy-Barbara 
smiled  as  though  to  reassure  him. 

Rosalie  was  coming  now  to  the  end  of  her 
operations.  She  had  reached  the  point  where 
one  may  relax  caution  a  little — when  speed  and 
despatch  are  more  necessary  than  concealment. 
So  she  proceeded  to  the  heart  of  the  matter 
without  any  of  her  customary  circumlocution. 

"Betsy-Barbara  Lane,"  she  said,  "I  believe 
you'd  go  for  a  friend  to  the  place  we  ain't 
supposed  to  mention,  except  in  church. 
Wouldn't  you?" 

"I  think  I'd  do  almost  anything  for  you, 
Mrs.  Le  Grange,"  said  Betsy-Barbara,  smiling 
warmly. 

"That's  a  pretty  thing  to  say.  an'  I  hope  you 
mean  it,"  replied  Rosalie.  "But  I  ain't  askin' 
for  myself.  I'm  askin'  for  Mrs.  Hanska." 

"What  has  happened?"  asked  Betsy-Bar- 


A  STROKE  OF  LUCK          265 

bara,  her  color  departing  with  a  rush.  "Has 
Constance — •" 

"Constance  is  perfectly  all  right,"  reassured 
Rosalie.  "She  was  trvin'  to  read — poor  thing 
— when  I  left  her  fifteen  minutes  ago.  But 
I've  got  my  answer,  you  would." 

"I  think  I  would  give  my  life  if  it  would 
help  now,"  said  Betsy-Barbara. 

"What  I'm  askin'  then,"  continued  Rosalie 
Le  Grange,  "may  seem  only  a  little  thing. 
But  it's  important.  I  can't  tell  you  how  im 
portant.  It  may  save  him — you  know,  Mr. 
Wade — if  you  play  your  cards  right." 

Betsy-Barbara  was  on  her  feet  now. 

"What  is  it?     Quick!"  she  asked. 

"Not  beatin'  about  the  bush,"  replied  Rosa 
lie  Le  Grange,  "I  want  you  to  spend  the  day 
flirtin'  perfectly  outrageous  with  Mr.  Estrilla." 

In  spite  of  herself,  Betsy-Barbara  let  her 
pink  blond  coloring  suffuse  her  cheeks.  But 
the  color  flowed  back  as  her  mind  leaped  from 
circumstance  to  circumstance  and  rested  on  a 
suspicion. 

"What  has  he — "  she  said  under  her  breath, 
"what  has  he  to  do  with  the  Hanska  case?" 


266  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Nothin'  much — himself,"  said  Rosalie,  in 
differently,  "but  a  great  deal  to  do  with  solvin' 
it.  An'  it's  important  that  he  should  be  de 
livered  at  just  the  right  time — as  a  kind  of  wit 
ness." 

A  new  idea  widened  Betsy-Barbara's  eyes 
and  made  soft  and  wondering  the  little  mouth 
of  her. 

"And  what  have  you?"  she  whispered. 
"Have  you — all  this  time — and  I  never  sus 
pected!" 

"Now  don't  go  cuttin'  corners  an'  guessin'," 
said  Rosalie  Le  Grange.  "I've  been  doin'  my 
part.  Don't  ask  me  any  more,  please.  I'm 
just  bustin'  to  tell.  I'm  an  old  fool  with  my 
tongue,  an'  if  I  spring  the  littlest  leak  in  a 
secret  it  all  comes  tumblin'  out.  Remember 
what  I've  told  you.  First,  you  can  help  save 
Mr.  Wade  as  nobody  else  can.  Next,  don't 
ask  any  questions.  An'  Betsy-Barbara  Lane, 
now  I'm  gettin'  solemn.  I  want  you  to  hold 
up  your  right  hand  an'  swear  somethin'  on 
your  honor — that  you  won't  tell  anybody — any 
body — about  this  until  I  let  you." 

But  now  the  shade  of  a  suspicion  flashed 
across  Betsy-Barbara's  face.  Rosalie  caught 


A  STROKE  OF  LUCK  267 

it  and  formed  her  answer  mentally  before  her 
pretty  juror  spoke. 

"Suppose,"  said  Betsy-Barbara — "I  beg 
your  pardon,  Mrs.  Le  Grange,  but  one  must 
watch  everything  in  a  time  like  this — suppose 
you  were  working  for  the  other  side?" 

"In  case  you  ever  found  that  out,"  said  Rosa 
lie,  "your  oath  is  all  off.  Goodness  me !" — and 
now  her  emotion  was  real — "do  I  look  like  a 
traitor  or  anything  of  that  sort?  Haven't  I 
helped  Mrs.  Hanska  every  way  I  could? 
You're  a  woman,  Betsy-Barbara,  an'  you  know 
me  by  this  time.  Am  I  that  kind?" 

"No,"  replied  Betsy-Barbara.  "You  are 
not."  And  with  an  air  of  pretty  solemnity, 
she  swore  it. 

"If  I  was  a  man,"  said  Rosalie  Le  Grange, 
"I  could  just  eat  you  up  when  you  look  that 
way.  Now  we're  goin'  straight  to  business. 
It  is  a  quarter  of  ten.  Has  Mrs.  Hanska  any 
date  to-day?" 

"She  was  going  to  her  lawyer's  at  eleven 
o'clock." 

"Let  her  do  that;  but  first  you're  to  see  her 
and  tell  her  that  she  mustn't  come  home  after 
wards.  Let  her  go  anywhere  except  home. 


268  THE  RED  BUTTON 

An'  after  you've  done  what  I  want  you  to  do, 
you'll  meet  her  somewhere  an'  take  her  to  din 
ner  at — at  the  Hotel  Hamblen.  That's  a  re 
spectable  out-of-the-way  place.  Got  that?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  after  you've  seen  Mrs.  Hanska,  you'll 
rest  a  while.  And  at  two-thirty,  sharp,  you're 
to  be  waiting  by  the  Carlisle  Trust  Building. 
It's  got  only  one  entrance,  which  is  lucky. 
And  you  can  hardly  miss." 

"For— him?" 

"For  Mr.  Estrilla.  This  is  no  time  to  make 
any  bones  of  any  thin'.  He's  crazy  over  you. 
He  has  an  engagement  there  for  two-thirty. 
Let  him  go  in.  He  probably  won't  stay  more 
than  fifteen  minutes.  You're  to  meet  him  at 
the  front  of  the  elevator.  You're  to — en 
courage  him — you  know.  If  he  asks  you  to 
take  a  walk,  which  he  probably  will,  you  ac 
cept,  and  start  him  toward  the  park.  This  is 
the  point.  At  five  o'clock  sharp,  you're  to 
have  him  takin'  tea  with  you  in  the  Park  Casino 
— you  know  where  that  is,  don't  you?  An' 
you're  not  to  leave  until  half  past  five.  Prob 
ably  I'll  be  there  long  before  that — your  job 
you  understand  is  to  deliver  him  to  me — that's 


A  STROKE  OF  LUCK          269 

what  all  this  is  for,  mostly.  Then  you're  to 
meet  Constance — Mrs.  Hanska — as  I  told  you. 
Wait  a  minute — "  Rosalie  paused,  frozen  im 
mobile  on  the  birth  of  a  new  thought — "have 
her  pack  a  suit  case  and  take  it  with  her.  You 
two  register  at  the  Hotel  Hamblen  an'  stay 
there  to-night — stay  right  there  until  you  hear 
from  me.  Got  all  that  ?  Well,  repeat  it  after 
me." 

Betsy-Barbara  repeated  it  slowly. 

"But  how  can  I  get  him  to  tea  if  he  doesn't 
ask  me?"  she  objected. 

"Where  I  was  raised,  a  young  woman  passin' 
a  soda  fountain  with  a  young  man,  never  went 
thirsty  unless  she  wanted  to.  Get  him  in  if 
you  have  to  invite  him  yourself.  I  know  you, 
Betsy-Barbara.  But  don't  you  be  yourself 
to-day.  Let  him  make  love  as  hard  as  he  wants 
— just  this  once." 

The  door  rattled ;  Tommy  North  was  back. 

"Mr.  North,"  said  Rosalie,  "I'm  borrowin' 
your  office  help  for  the  day.  We  want  you  to 
do  somethin'  for  us.  You  don't  understand 
now,  but  you  will.  Don't  you  go  near  my 
house  until  to-morrow — you  sleep  out  to-night 
an'  breakfast  out  to-morrow.  I  can  give  you 


270  THE  RED  BUTTON 

a  rebate  if  you  demand  it,"  she  pursued,  dim 
pling  on  him. 

"All  right,  take  it  out  of  that  first  week's 
board  you  stung  me  so  hard  for,"  laughed 
Tommy  North.  Then  his  eyes  sought  Betsy- 
Barbara's  with  a  troubled  look.  "What's  the 
answer?"  he  asked. 

"There's  no  answer,"  said  Rosalie  Le 
Grange;  "not  just  at  present.  Except  you'll 
be  glad  you  did  it — an'  I'll  explain  some  day 
myself.  Go  where  you  want  to-night.  Only 
don't  get  drunk." 

"Oh,  he  won't  do  that,  of  course!"  put  in 
Betsy-Barbara. 

Which  defensive  assurance  quite  restored  the 
spirits  of  Tommy  North,  and  the  smile  came 
back  to  his  face. 

"But  promise  us  one  thing — you  will  never 
say  a  word  to  anybody  about  this,"  put  in 
Rosalie. 

"I  promise,"  said  Tommy,  as  solemnly  as  he 
could,  considering  that  his  heart  danced.  She 
had  taken  up  the  cudgels  for  him ! 

Out  in  the  hall  Rosalie  remarked : 

"You  can  trust  quite  a  lot  of  people  with  a 


A  STROKE  OF  LUCK          271 

secret  if  you  pick  the  right  ones.  Now  we  must 
be  gettin'  on." 

But  Betsy-Barbara's  curiosity  made  one  fi 
nal  struggle. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Le  Grange,  is  Mr.  Wade  to  be 
proved  innocent  ?  May  I  tell  Constance  that  ?" 

"You  can  tell  her  nothing — understand? 
Just  nothing.  But  probably  he  is,  just  the 
same!" 

"When  will  we  know?"  asked  Betsy-Bar 
bara. 

"You  may  know  somethin'  to-morrow  if 
you're  a  good  girl  an'  do  just  as  I've  told  you." 

"From  the  morning  papers?" 

"Well,  I  certainly  hope  not!"  said  Rosalie 
Le  Grange. 

They  parted  at  the  corner.  No  sooner  had 
Betsy-Barbara  taken  a  Fifth  Avenue  stage  and 
started  on  her  puzzling  journey  of  intrigue, 
than  Rosalie  called  a  taxicab  and  set  her  course 
for  the  East  Side  docks  of  lower  Manhattan. 

Here  we  must  introduce  a  new  character  in 
this  story,  a  person  who  flashes  in  and  out  as 
people  are  ever  flashing  in  and  out  of  our  lives, 
bearing  service  in  their  hands.  At  this  point 


272  THE  RED  BUTTON 

also  appears — though  ever  so  slightly — the  ele 
ment  of  coincidence.  Luck  had  entered  a  little 
into  these  operations  of  Rosalie  Le  Grange,  as 
it  enters,  to  an  extent  that  a  novelist  never 
dares  admit,  into  all  chains  of  human  affairs. 
This  final  stroke  of  luck  was  small;  but  it  fell 
toward  Rosalie's  ends.  Doubtless  had  it  failed, 
she,  the  fertile,  would  have  found  another  plan 
as  good. 

The  new  character,  then,  is  Skipper  Matt 
Baldwin  of  the  schooner  Maud,  engaged  in  the 
coastwise  lumber  trade.  The  Maud  is  lying 
at  the  dock,  preparing  to  sail  for  Halifax  on 
the  morrow  with  a  return  cargo.  A  battered 
and  pleasant  old  man,  the  Skipper  Baldwin, 
with  an  eagle  profile  which  denotes  his  courage 
and  a  soft  eye  which  indicates  his  gullibility. 
He  tossed  a  life  long  on  the  seven  seas  before 
he  bought  the  Maud  and  settled  down  for  the 
rest  of  his  days  to  coasting.  He  was  a  widower 
of  long  and  affectionate  memory;  because  of 
that  and  because  of  his  searchings  of  the  spirit 
on  lonely  voyages,  he  became  a  believer  in 
spiritualism  of  the  kind  which  Rosalie  Le 
Grange  used  to  practise.  Rosalie  was  his  fa 
vorite  medium — and  his  friend.  Between  voy- 


A  STROKE  OF  LUCK          273 

ages,  whenever  he  found  her  in  New  York,  he 
used  to  visit  her  and  receive  a  consolation  which 
was  false  in  detail  and  yet  true  in  spirit.  To 
the  general,  there  are  only  two  ways  of  look 
ing  at  a  professional  medium — as  a  hell-born 
fraud  or  a  heaven-sent  friend.  To  him,  she 
was  all  a  friend.  There  was  nothing,  he  told 
her  again  and  again,  that  he  would  not  do  for 
her.  She  believed  that ;  and  her  beliefs  in  the 
heights  and  depths  of  humanity  seldom  went 
wrong.  Toward  the  schooner  Maud  she  was 
now  driving  her  taxicab. 

The  piece  of  luck  was  this:  at  the  very  mo 
ment  when  the  taxicab  rounded  the  corner  from 
Wall  Street  and  the  driver  began  to  inquire  for 
Pier  16l/2,  Captain  Baldwin  was  as  near  to  pro 
fanity  as  his  convictions  allowed.  As  for  the 
mate,  he  had  no  convictions  which  prevented 
him  from  expressing  himself  to  the  limits  of 
his  vocabulary,  over  that  unlucky  accident,  that 
tumble  into  the  hatches,  which  had  sent  a  newly- 
signed  Italian  member  of  the  crew  to  Bellevue 
Hospital  nursing  a  broken  arm.  With  all  the 
heaven-condemned  things  they  had  to  do  before 
the  improper  old  scow  could  be  cleared  in  the 
morning,  how  the  sin  and  sulphur  (the  mate 


274  THE  RED  BUTTON 

inquired  of  the  bright  air)  were  they  going  to 
dig  up  another  sailor  to  satisfy  the  port  regula 
tions?  The  skipper,  braiding  rope,  returned 
no  answer,  for  answer  there  was  none. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   LAST   SEANCE 

FORTUNATELY  for  her  plans,  only 
three  of  Rosalie  Le  Grange's  regular 
boarders  ever  came  home  to  luncheon — Con 
stance,  Betsy-Barbara  and  Professor  Noll. 
Of  these,  two  were  disposed  of  for  the  day. 
Professor  Noll,  reporting  in  the  dining-room 
at  twelve-thirty  sharp — regular  meals  at  reg 
ular  hours  was  a  canon  of  the  Noll  Scientific 
Plan — found  three  strangers  already  placed 
and  eating.  Two  young  men,  powerful  and 
slow-moving,  sat  at  either  side  of  the  hostess. 
At  the  other  end  of  the  table,  in  Miss  Hard- 
ing's  accustomed  seat,  was  a  matronly  woman, 
gray-haired  but  alert  of  motion  and  eye. 

"Mr.  Kennedy — Mr.  Hunter — Mrs.  Leary 
— I  want  to  introduce  Professor  Noll.  The 
professor  is  one  of  my  regular  boarders.  This 
lady  and  these  gentlemen  are  transients ;  they'll 

275 


276  THE  RED  BUTTON 

be  with  us  just  a  few  days,"  said  Rosalie  Le 
Grange.  The  two  men  nodded  and  fell  to 
their  luncheon,  of  which  they  consumed  vast 
quantities.  Mrs.  Leary,  however,  smiled  upon 
him  an  experienced  smile. 

"Mrs.  Leary,"  pursued  Rosalie  Le  Grange, 
"has  got  some  foreign  views  I'm  sure  you'd 
like  to  see.  You  won't  be  droppin'  in  this 
afternoon,  will  you?" 

"No,"  said  Professor  Noll,  "sorry,  I'm  mak 
ing  up  the  paper  to-day.  I  won't  get  home 
until  just  before  my  dinner.  My  habit,"  he 
added,  addressing  Mrs.  Leary,  "always  to  dine 
just  at  seven.  Not  that  the  hour  of  seven,  or 
any  other  hour,  makes  a  difference  in  the  abso 
lute.  It  is  regularity  that  counts — mathemat 
ical  regularity.  The  human  intestinal  system 
is  a  machine,  admirable,  well-balanced,  nicely 
calculated  to  its  uses.  Now  the  minute  study 
of  scientific  management  has  proved  that  a 
machine — "  And  so  Professor  Noll,  having 
mounted  his  hobby,  rode  blithely  away  upon 
it ;  and  Mrs.  Leary,  with  all  the  ready  tact  of 
the  experienced  police  matron  that  she  was, 
vaulted  to  the  pommel  and  rode  with  him. 
Rosalie  had  learned  all  she  wanted  to  know. 


THE  LAST  STANCE  277^ 

Professor  Noll  would  not  trouble  her  again 
that  afternoon. 

As  Professor  Noll,  still  talking  diet  to  Mrs. 
Leary,  put  on  his  overcoat,  Rosalie  sought  the 
kitchen.  She  addressed  Mrs.  Moore,  the  cook 
and  the  waitress,  all  busy  stacking  up  the  soiled 
dishes. 

"I've  got  a  little  surprise  for  you  girls,"  she 
said.  "A  gentleman  friend  of  mine  who  sings 
in  the  chorus  of  the  Laughing  Lass  sent  me 
three  seats  for  the  professional  matinee  to-day. 
But  this  morning  two  people  I  was  goin'  to 
take,  telephoned  they  couldn't  come  on  account 
of  sickness  in  the  family.  Now  this  Mrs. 
Leary  shows  up — she's  an  old  friend  an'  she 
positively  hates  music.  Just  this  once,  I'm  go- 
in'  to  give  you  an  afternoon  off  an'  let  you 
leave  the  dishes.  Mrs.  Leary  an'  I  will  do 
them.  She's  been  livin'  in  hotels  that  long  she's 
just  hungry  for  housework,  she  says.  Strikes 
you  kind  of  funny,  don't  it,  that  anybody'd 
rather  wash  dishes  than  go  to  a  matinee?" 

"A  professional  matinee!"  cried  the  cook. 
"What's  that?" 

"Are  they  right  down-stairs?"  asked  the 
waitress. 


278  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"I  must  put  on  my  brown  dress,"  mourned 
Mrs.  Moore. 

"Well,  you'll  have  to  hurry  if  you're  goin'  to 
fuss  up,"  said  Rosalie.  "The  theater  is  away 
up-town  and  the  curtain  goes  up  at  two-ten 
sharp,  an'  it's  way  past  one  now."  Rosalie  had 
looked  out  for  these  details  when  she  bought  the 
seats  at  a  down-town  ticket  agency.  Forth 
with,  aprons  came  off  and  smiles  came  on,  as 
the  below-stairs  inhabitants  of  Madame  Le 
Grange's  select  boarding-house  scurried  to  their 
finery. 

They  were  gone  at  length,  after  an  uncom 
fortable  period,  during  which  Rosalie  twice  be 
trayed  her  nervousness  by  knocking  at  their 
doors  and  reminding  them  that  the  time  was 
short.  Another  pause.  The  chimes  of  the 
Metropolitan  Tower  rang  the  hour  of  two.  At 
the  first  stroke,  Rosalie,  as  one  who  finds  relief 
in  action,  ran  down  the  basement  steps  and 
opened  the  back  door.  Inspector  Martin  Mc- 
Gee,  dressed  in  plain  clothes  and  carrying  a 
small  bag,  was  waiting  outside. 

"All  set?"  he  asked  under  his  breath. 

"Everything's  ready,"  replied  Rosalie  as  she 
led  the  way  across  the  basement. 


THE  LAST  SEANCE  279 

But  Inspector  McGee  stopped  her  at  the 
stairway. 

"Say,  it's  all  right  to  let  you  have  your  head 
and  do  things  your  own  way.  Grimaldi  re 
ported  back  for  other  duty  at  one  o'clock,  just 
as  you  told  him.  But  I'm  running  risks  when 
I  take  your  word  that  you'll  deliver  this  Es- 
trilla  when  we  want  him — or  I  would  be,  if  it 
was  anybody  but  you.  Why  can't  you  tell 
me?" 

"See  here,  Marty  McGee,"  said  Rosalie, 
"I've  got  ready  to  put  one  of  the  biggest 
feathers  in  your  cap  that  you  ever  wore.  An' 
I've  done  it  by  goin'  my  own  woman's  way. 
If  it  hadn't  been  for  me,  you'd  been  barkin'  up 
the  wrong  tree  yet.  I've  acted  this  way  be 
cause  I  do  things  woman-fashion,  an'  there  ain't 
a  single  mutt  man  alive  that  would  ever  say  I 
was  on  the  right  track — until  I  delivered  the 
goods.  The  hardest  thing  I  know  is  to  tell 
what  I  know — that's  a  habit.  Are  you  goin' 
to  believe  me  when  I  say  that  I  can  put  my 
hands  on  this  Estrilla  whenever  I  please?  Are 
you  goin'  to  leave  that  to  me,  just  like  you've 
left  the  whole  thing  so  far?" 

Reassured,  Inspector  McGee  smiled  on  her. 


280  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Usually  that  smile,  directed  on  Rosalie  Le 
Grange,  brought  a  responsive  flash  of  coquet 
tish  dimples  and  sparkling  teeth.  But  it 
seemed  like  trying  to  fire  dead  ashes  now.  Her 
face  was  serious  and  drawn.  Suddenly  it  en 
tered  his  mind  that  she  looked  her  age.  Un 
acquainted  with  that  defiance  of  time  by  which 
a  charming  woman  may  be  fifty  in  one  minute 
and  twenty  in  the  next,  he  pondered  on  this 
with  all  his  heavy  mental  processes.  And  sud 
denly  it  came  to  Inspector  McGee  with  a  kind 
of  shock  that  he  regarded  her  all  the  more  ten 
derly  therefor.  It  was  a  pity  that  such  as 
Rosalie  Le  Grange  should  lose  her  young 
looks. 

"Of  course  you're  goin'  to  leave  it  to  me! 
Now  come  on!"  said  Rosalie  Le  Grange, 
breaking  into  his  meditations. 

The  two  city  detectives  and  the  one  police 
matron  were  waiting  silently  in  Rosalie  Le 
Grange's  room.  As  the  Inspector  entered,  a 
change  came  over  them.  None  rose  or  shifted 
position,  but  their  bodies  took  on  an  appear 
ance  of  alert  stiffness,  their  faces  a  look  of  at 
tention.  Salutes,  square  shoulders,  all  the 
frills  and  decorations  of  military  etiquette,  were 


THE  LAST  SEANCE  281 

unnecessary  among  these  four  to  prove  the 
strictness  of  the  Inspector's  command. 

McGee  locked  the  door  behind  him.  Rosa 
lie  closed  the  transom. 

"Is  this  place  safe  for  talk,  now?" 

"Perfect,"  said  Rosalie.  "I've  tried  it. 
But  talk  low,  to  be  sure." 

The  Inspector  opened  the  bag. 

"There's  your  felt  shoes,"  he  said.  "Now 
listen,  boys — and  you,  Mrs.  Leary.  This  here 
lady  is  running  this  thing,  until  I  tell  you  dif 
ferent.  Got  your  notes  and  pencils,  Kennedy? 
All  right.  Mrs.  Le  Grange,  you  tell  'em  just 
what  you  want." 

When  Rosalie  had  rehearsed  her  drama,  with 
careful  provision  for  unforeseen  emergencies, 
when  her  forces  had  scattered — Hunter  to  the 
basement,  Kennedy  to  Miss  Harding's  room, 
Mrs.  Leary,  impersonating  the  maid,  to  the 
front  door — Rosalie  stood  alone  with  Inspector 
McGee. 

"Well,  everything's  ready,"  said  the  Inspec 
tor,  "and  time's  precious." 

"Yes,  I'm  goin'  in  a  minute,"  she  responded ; 
but  her  voice  was  dead.  "I  feel — like  I  was 
going  to  be  operated  on.  That's  how  I  feel." 


282  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Aw,  brace  up !"  said  Martin  McGee. 

Rosalie  did  not  answer  at  once.  Her  eyes, 
sweeping  the  room  to  avoid  direct  gaze  lighted 
on  the  dresser,  where  stood  a  photograph  of 
Constance  Hanska — a  solicited  gift.  She 
fixed  her  gaze  on  that;  and  the  fallen  lines  of 
her  face  lifted  with  determination. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I'm  goin'  to  brace  up." 

She  started  up-stairs,  then,  to  that  room  on 
the  third  floor  back,  the  center  of  the  sinister 
web  which  she  had  made  of  this,  her  dwelling- 
place,  so  strangely  acquired,  so  strangely  used. 
In  that  web  struggled  a  half -blind,  half-dis 
tracted  fly,  toward  which  she,  the  spider,  was 
now  creeping.  Some  such  comparison  may 
have  struck  Rosalie,  for  she  shuddered  twice 
in  her  slow  progress.  And  these  were  not  the 
assumed  shudders  which  announced  her  false 
"control." 

Rosalie  knocked  at  Miss  Estrilla's  door. 

"Come  in!"  cried  the  invalid,  more  eagerly 
than  her  wont.  And  as  Rosalie  entered,  "Oh, 
I  was  expecting  you !  Can  you — will  you — to- 
day?" 

"I've  been  puttin'  all  the  power  I  have  into 
this  thing,"  said  Rosalie  Le  Grange;  "you've 


THE  LAST  SEANCE  283 

rfio  idea  how  I've  tried.  I  was  awake  half  the 
night,  just  gettin'  into  touch." 

"I'm  sure  I'm  grateful  for  that,"  replied 
Miss  Estrilla. 

"I'm  pretty  sure  I'll  be  strong,"  pursued 
Rosalie,  "but  I'm  just  as  sure  that  it  will  be 
weeks  an'  weeks  before  I  can  ever  do  it  again. 
This  is  my  last  sittin'  with  you  for  ever  so  long, 
Miss  Estrilla.  I  can  feel  it  goin'.  When  I'm 
playin'  for  all  my  power,  as  I've  got  to  now, 
conditions  must  be  right.  You  wouldn't  mind, 
would  you,  if  I  darkened  this  room  complete? 
An'  let's  have  a  little  more  air." 

There  was  a  window,  which  opened  upon  the 
fire-escape,  at  the  foot  of  Miss  Estrilla's  bed. 
This  window  Rosalie  darkened  last  of  all;  but 
first  she  raised  the  sash  a  foot. 

"That  curtain  will  blow  an'  disturb  me,"  she 
said.  "I'm  goin'  to  pin  it  down." 

Had  Miss  Estrilla's  soul  held  any  emotions, 
in  that  moment,  but  grief  and  eagerness — had 
she  been  capable  just  then  of  suspicion — she 
might  have  noted  a  tiny  but  significant  sound. 
The  fire-escape  had  creaked  a  little,  as  though 
a  weight  had  been  imposed  at  the  bottom.  It 
creaked  again  at  intervals  for  the  next  five 


284  THE  RED  BUTTON 

minutes,  but  afterward,  usually,  when  the  roar 
of  a  passing  Ninth  Avenue  elevated  train 
drowned  all  slighter  sounds. 

"Now  I'm  ready  to  try,"  said  Rosalie,  set 
tling  down  at  the  foot  of  the  couch.  "Dear, 
you  do  look  anxious!  Don't  try  to  crowd  the 
spirits — that's  always  the  best  way — but  re 
member  again —  this  is  about  the  last  control 
that's  in  me  for  a  month.  Be  quiet,  dearie.'* 
Her  eyes  sought  the  distances,  her  body  shook. 
Then  came  the  change  which  Miss  Estrilla  had 
watched  so  often,  and  with  such  a  fascinated 
eagerness.  Rosalie's  body  relaxed  and  fell 
backward  in  the  Morris-chair.  Her  lids 
gradually  closed.  She  breathed  as  though 
asleep. 

"Oh,  sad  lady  again!"  babbled  Laughing- 
Eyes,  quite  suddenly.  She  could  hear  Miss 
Estrilla  shift  eagerly  on  her  couch.  "I  can't 
stay  long.  John  speaks.  He  says  he  wants 
you  quick.  John  is  big  and  strong.  Good-by, 
sad  lady." 

Rosalie's  breath  came  hard;  her  body 
wrenched;  a  masculine  voice  followed — the 
voice  which  Rosalie  always  assumed  when  she 
impersonated  Captain  John  H.  Hanska. 


THE  LAST  SEANCE  285 

"I  am  here  again,  Margaret ;  I  love  you.  I 
am  ready  to  forgive." 

"Oh,  John,  thank  you — thank  God — you  will 
when  you  know.  For,  John,  you  have  so  little 
to  forgive,  beside  what  I  have  already  for 
given."  As  usual  Miss  Estrilla  made  reply. 

"I  know.  And  I  suffer.  But  I  understand. 
First  I  have  told  you  how  little  I  saw  that 
night.  My  flesh  still  clung  to  me — " 

Rosalie  stopped  here  and  seemed  to  gather 
her  body  together,  as  though  the  thing  which 
controlled  her  was  struggling  to  assert  more 
power. 

"So  I  do  not  know  what  happened  even  be 
fore  I  passed  out — it  came  so  suddenly — say 
to  me  again  that  you  loved  me." 

"So  much,  John  dear,  that  I  can  not  tell  you 
all—" 

"And  I  put  aside  such  a  love  as  that  for 
jewels!" 

"Yes,  John.  And  when  I  searched  your 
room — the  night  I  found  you  there — I  would 
have  given  them  all  to  you  if  you  had  waked 
and  spoken  kindly  to  me.  But  you  were  mar 
ried — and  you  would  have  died  soon  at  the  best. 
Oh,  why  not  before  this  happened  to  Juan — " 


286  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Was  it  Juan?  I  have  told  you  that  I  could 
not  see  clearly  at  that  time — it  is  all  confused." 

"Yes,  dearest.  You  could  not  understand 
because  of  the  clothes — but  dearest,  it  was  Juan 
who  held  the  knife  which  went  into  your  body. 
Oh,  forgive  him  more  than  me.  He  is  my 
brother — he  did  it  for  me — John,  I  can't  for 
get  his  remorse  when  he  came  to  me — were  you 
watching?  Did  you  see?" 

"No — I  was  not  awake  in  spirit  yet — quick" 
— the  voice  was  growing  weak. 

"He  himself  did  not  understand,  then,  how 
you  died.  He  thought  the  knife  killed  you. 
He  worked  it  all  out  afterward — when  I  told 
him  about  your  condition.  But  then,  he  said 
to  me :  'My  God,  I  have  run  a  knife  into  Cap 
tain  Hanska!'  What  is  it — what  is  it!" 

For  Rosalie  had  leaped  from  her  chair,  run 
up  the  window-shade  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
thrown  the  sash  wide  open.  Into  the  room 
leaped  two  men.  They  ranged  themselves  be 
side  the  couch. 

"What  is  it!"  screamed  Miss  Estrilla  again. 

"These  are  police  detectives,"  said  Rosalie 
in  her  natural  voice.  "They  have  been  listen 
ing  behind  that  window.  They've  come  to  find 


THE  LAST  SEANCE  287 

what  you  know  about  the  death  of  Captain 
John  H.  Hanska." 

Miss  Estrilla  gave  a  little  scream  which  died 
in  a  rattle  of  her  throat.  Her  eyes  caught  at 
Rosalie.  "Traitor!"  she  managed  to  gasp  be 
fore  she  gave  another  scream — and  fainted,  as 
Rosalie  Le  Grange  expected  that  she  would. 

Rosalie  rushed  for  water  and  restoratives. 

"Get  right  at  her  as  she  comes  out,"  she 
whispered  to  Inspector  McGee  in  passing. 
"That's  the  time." 

"Ain't  you  going  to  stay?"  inquired  McGee. 

"No.  She'll  be  too  busy  hatin'  me  ever  to 
talk.  An'  there's  two  things  I  never  want  to 
watch.  One's  a  hangin',  an'  the  other's  the 
Third  Degree." 

And  by  the  time  that  Miss  Estrilla  was  con 
scious  again  of  the  sights  and  sounds  of  this, 
her  terrible  world,  Rosalie  was  gone  from  the 
room,  and  Detective  Kennedy,  police  stenog 
rapher,  who  had  been  listening  at  the  open  tell 
tale  register  of  the  room  below,  was  with  the 
group  of  inquisitors  about  her  bed. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   THIRD  DEGREE 

4  6  A  ND  now  we  will  take  your  statement," 
£M.  said  Martin  McGee. 
The  first  brutal  processes  of  the  Third  De 
gree  were  finished — the  Third  Degree,  that 
modern  system  of  torture  more  terrible  than  the 
medieval  by  just  so  much  as  the  mind  is  more 
sensitive  than  the  body.  We  do  well,  as  Rosa 
lie  Le  Grange  has  said,  not  to  witness  it.  Miss 
Estrilla  lies  back  on  the  couch,  a  bruised  and 
broken  soul,  ready  now  to  tell  all  the  truth  be 
cause  there  is  in  her  no  more  strength  to  lie. 
Detective  Kennedy  has  drawn  a  table  to  the 
center  of  the  room,  set  out  his  pencils  and  his 
note-books,  and  prepared  for  his  work.  Mc 
Gee  and  Hunter,  expert  inquisitors  both,  sit 
where  she  can  not  avoid  their  eyes  if  she  but 
look  up.  The  door  has  half-opened  in  the 
midst  of  the  preliminary  proceedings,  and  into 
the  shadow  outside  creeps  Rosalie  Le  Grange, 

288 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE         289 

to  listen  with  all  her  ears.  The  victim  on  the 
couch  is  no  more  pale  and  drawn  than  Rosalie 
as  she  stands  there,  one  hand  on  the  lintel. 

"Your  name  and  all  about  yourself  first," 
says  Inspector  McGee,  urging  gently  now. 

Let  me  omit,  as  the  expert  police  stenog 
rapher  did,  certain  expletives,  repetitions,  diva 
gations,  which  always  mar  testimony.  The  po 
lice  stenographer  edits  these  extraneous  words 
out  of  official  statements.  Let  me  omit,  too, 
those  passages  of  question  and  answer  by  which 
the  police  refresh  the  memory  of  the  witness. 
Let  me  just  give  the  document,  as  it  was  filed 
away  in  the  archives  of  the  New  York  Police 
Department. 

"My  name  is  Margarita  Perez.  I  am  thirty- 
five  years  old,  and  unmarried.  I  was  born  in 
the  Island  of  Trinidad,  where  I  lived  all  my 
life.  Juan  Perez  is  my  half-brother,  ten  years 
younger  than  I.  Our  father  was  the  same, 
but  my  mother  was  an  Englishwoman,  my 
brother's  mother  was  Spanish.  My  father  was 
a  cacao  grower.  He  was  very  rich  once,  but 
he  lost  much  of  his  money.  When  he  died, 
four  years  ago,  he  left  my  brother  the  planta- 


290  THE  RED  BUTTON 

tions,  and  me  a  very  small  income  and  the  fam 
ily  jewels — they  were  worth  twenty  thousand 
dollars  of  your  money.  My  brother  came  into 
his  property  when  he  was  twenty-one.  He 
managed  poorly;  and  then  he  had  bad  luck. 
By  last  summer,  he  was  so  near  failure  that 
there  seemed  to  be  only  one  way  out — for  me  to 
sell  my  jewels  and  give  him  the  money.  I 
wanted  to  do  that,  but  he  wouldn't  let  me  make 
the  sacrifice.  He  said  that  he  had  committed 
his  follies  himself,  and  would  suffer  for  him 
self.  He  saw  one  more  chance  to  save  us.  We 
had  rich  relatives  in  Caracas,  on  the  Venezue 
lan  mainland.  He  went  there  to  see  if  they 
would  help.  Caracas  is  not  very  far,  but  it  is 
a  long  journey  on  the  kind  of  boats  and  trains 
that  run  in  the  Indies  and  South  America.  He 
was  gone  three  or  four  weeks.  He  sent  me 
only  one  letter ;  and  it  was  so  discouraging  that 
I  felt  sure  there  was  no  hope. 

"Just  before  that  letter  arrived,  and  after 
Juan  left  for  Caracas,  Captain  John  H.  Han- 
ska  came  to  Port  of  Spain  from  Antwerp. 
Though  my  father  was  Spanish,  we  lived  in 
the  English  fashion;  I  was  free  to  meet  men. 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE         291 

I  met  Captain  Hanska  and  fell  in  love  with 
him—" 

(Here  the  police  stenographer  cut  corners. 
In  this  last  phrase  he  condensed  many  divaga 
tions  and  evasions  on  the  part  of  the  witness; 
indeed,  Inspector  Martin  McGee,  expert  in 
quisitor  that  he  was,  spent  five  minutes  in  bring 
ing  out  that  simple  declaration — and  the  next. ) 

"He  said  that  he  loved  me.  I  believed  him. 
It  was  all  very  quick.  Within  a  week  we 
were  secretly  engaged.  I  supposed  that  he 
was  an  American  army  officer  on  special  duty. 
And  after  we  were  betrothed,  I  told  him  about 
our  troubles  and  my  wish  to  help  Juan.  My 
mind  was  made  up  by  that  time — I  would  sell 
my  jewels  before  my  brother  returned  to  pre 
vent  me.  I  told  this  to  Captain  Hanska.  He 
offered  to  help.  He  said  that  he  must  go  to 
England  the  next  week,  and  in  England  he 
could  sell  them  to  much  better  advantage  than 
in  Port  of  Spain.  I  agreed — I  trusted  him 
absolutely,  you  see.  Then  he  told  me  that  he 
could  dispose  of  them  more  easily,  and  for  more 
money,  if  he  appeared  to  be  the  owner.  So 
I  made  out  and  signed  a  bill  of  sale,  describing 


292  THE  RED  BUTTON 

in  detail  every  piece  to  the  last  ring  and  pin, 
and  transferring  them  absolutely  to  him.  Now 
I  know  what  a  foolish  thing  I  did.  For  that 
made  the  jewels  his  property  in  law,  as  surely 
as  though  he  had  bought  them  from  me. 

"The  steamer  on  which  he  planned  to  sail 
for  England — he  told  me — was  due  to  leave 
Port  of  Spain  on  Wednesday  morning.  On 
Monday  night  he  visited  me  and  took  away 
the  jewels.  He  said  that  he  wanted  to  regis 
ter  them  in  advance  with  the  purser.  He  prom 
ised  to  come  again  on  Tuesday  night.  He 
did  not  appear.  I  learned  the  next  morning 
that  he  had  left  on  Tuesday  for  New  York. 
I  started  for  the  pier  from  which  the  South 
ampton  steamer  sails,  in  order  to  see  if  there 
was  any  mistake.  On  the  way,  I  met  a  friend 
of  the  family  who  had  been  waiting  to  wrarn 
me.  He  had  found  out  about  Captain  Han- 
ska's  career  in  Caracas.  He  proved  to  me  that 
the  Captain  was  an  adventurer  and  almost  a 
professional  gambler.  Then  I  understood. 
I  told  no  one  about  the  jewels  until  Juan 
came  back;  but  I  wrote  a  letter  to  Captain 
Hanska  in  care  of  the  steamship  company. 
Somehow,  it  reached  him.  He  answered  it 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE         293 

with  a  cold  letter,  claiming  the  jewels  abso 
lutely  and  stating  that  he  bought  them  from 
me. 

"That  arrived  just  after  Juan  came  back 
from  Caracas.  Juan  had  not  succeeded  in 
raising  money.  The  plantation  went  into 
bankruptcy.  That  is  the  matter  with  my  eyes. 
They  had  always  been  troublesome.  But  now 
I  gave  them  a  real  disease  by  weeping  over 
the  loss  of  our  property." 

(Here,  as  Miss  Estrilla  made  her  statement, 
she  spoke  broken  phrases  about  another  loss. 
The  police  questioned  her  minutely  to  discover 
what  she  meant.  Upon  finding  that  she  re 
ferred  merely  to  the  loss  of  a  whole  heart's  love, 
they  dismissed  this  part  of  her  statement  as 
immaterial,  and  did  not  enter  it  upon  the  rec 
ord.) 

"I  told  Juan,  of  course.  He  was  very  kind 
to  me.  He  did  not  reproach  me.  But  we 
could  do  nothing,  he  found.  Captain  Hanska 
had  landed  in  New  York — the  passenger  lists 
showed  that.  It  was  certain  that  he  had  smug 
gled  the  jewels  into  the  United  States  without 
paying  duty ;  and  we  confirmed  that  afterward. 
Juan  has-  found  out  a  great  deal  since  then 


294  THE  RED  BUTTON 

about  jewel  smuggling.  The  agents  of  your 
government  watch  the  big  purchases  in  Europe, 
and  notify  the  custom-house  to  look  out  for 
them.  But  an  irregular  purchase  at  a  remote 
point  like  Port  of  Spain — it  is  easy  for  an  ex 
pert  to  smuggle  such  jewels  through  the  cus 
toms.  We  decided  at  last  to  go  to  the  United 
States  and  see  if  we  could  get  them  back — 
if  not  the  jewels,  at  least  the  bill  of  sale — 
because  if  the  diamonds  were  in  our  possession 
with  the  bill  of  sale  destroyed,  we  could  prove 
by  half  the  people  in  Port  of  Spain  that  they 
were  ours.  We  were  safe  in  stealing  them 
from  him — perfectly  safe.  For  he  would  not 
dare  complain  to  the  New  York  police,  since 
if  he  claimed  them  publicly,  we  could  have  him 
arrested  for  smuggling. 

"Juan  thought  that  all  out.  We  took 
what  little  money  we  had  left  and  started  for 
New  York,  telling  our  friends  that  we  were 
going  to  settle  in  New  Orleans.  Juan  wrote 
to  our  uncles  in  Caracas  and  secured  the  New 
York  agency  for  a  small  asphalt  company  of 
theirs.  That  was  done  to  conceal  our  real 
reason  for  being  here.  On  the  voyage,  my 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE         295 

eyes  grew  worse,  I  cried  so  much.  I  was  very 
ill  with  them  when  I  landed. 

"Juan  and  I  took  rooms  apart.  We  had 
learned  enough  about  Captain  Hanska  to  know 
where  we  might  look  for  him.  Juan  traced 
him  to  Mrs.  Moore's  boarding-house.  It 
seemed  certain  that  Captain  Hanska  had  not 
sold  the  jewels  yet,  else  he  would  not  be  living 
so  cheaply.  The  first  thing  was  to  find  where 
they  were.  Finally  Juan  and  I  formed  a  plan 
and  acted  upon  it. 

"Juan  had  discovered  that  the  back  room  on 
the  top  floor  of  Mrs.  Moore's  house  was  vacant. 
Captain  Hanska  lived  below ;  there  was  no  good 
reason  for  him  ever  to  come  up  on  that  floor. 
I  took  the  vacant  room,  calling  myself  Miss 
Estrilla,  as  you  know.  Juan  had  been  watch 
ing  Captain  Hanska  like  a  detective.  He 
moved  me  in  one  day  when  the  Captain  had 
gone  to  Staten  Island.  My  presence  in  the 
house  was  safer  than  it  may  seem  to  you.  I 
did  not  leave  my  room  even  for  meals,  since 
my  eyes  were  really  in  very  bad  condition. 
Then,  I  wore  dark  glasses,  an  eye-shade  and 
a  heavy  scarf  about  my  head — I  do  not  believe 


296  THE  RED  BUTTON 

my  own  mother  would  have  known  me.  Cap 
tain  Hanska  had  never  seen  Juan  or  his  pic- 
tture — it  just  happened  that  there  were  no  pho 
tographs  of  him  in  our  house  at  Port  of  Spain. 

"Juan  lived  in  an  apartment-hotel.  We 
were  in  communication  all  the  time  by  tele 
phone.  He  was  careful  to  avoid  the  Captain 
when  he  visited  me.  It  was  all  dangerous,  for 
at  any  time  we  might  be  discovered.  But  we 
had  our  plan — I  was  to  enter  Captain  Han- 
ska's  room  with  a  pass-key  and  search  for  the 
jewels  or  the  bill  of  sale.  Whenever  I  made 
this  search,  Juan  was  to  be  following  Captain 
Hanska.  If  the  Captain  showed  signs  of  re 
turning,  Juan  was  to  call  me  up  on  the  tele 
phone — the  ringing  of  the  bell  in  my  room, 
which  informed  me  from  down-stairs  that  I  was 
wanted  on  the  extension  telephone  by  my  door, 
was  to  be  my  warning  signal.  I  could  hear 
that  bell  from  Captain  Hanska's  room.  There 
could  be  no  mistake,  because  Juan  was  the  only 
person  in  New  York  who  would  be  telephoning 
to  me. 

"But  when  I  tried  Captain  Hanska's  door 
with  my  pass-key,  I  found  that  he  had  installed 
a  new  patent  spring-lock.  The  next  time 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE         297 

Juan  called,  he  looked  over  the  house.  He 
found  that  you  could  enter  Captain  Hanska's 
room  from  the  fire-escape — and  that  you  could, 
get  on  to  the  fire-escape  from  the  window  of 
the  lumber-room  across  the  hall  from  mine. 
That  room  was  never  locked.  It  was  only 
a  question  of  prying  open  the  catch  on  Cap 
tain  Hanska's  window.  One  night  about  a 
week  before  Captain  Hanska  died,  I  began  the 
search.  I  went  down  the  fire-escape,  carry 
ing  a  pocket  electric  torch  which  Juan  had 
bought  for  me.  I  got  the  window-catch  open 
with  a  penknife — it  was  old  and  loose.  I 
went  over  the  whole  room  that  night  and  again 
on  another  night — and  found  nothing.  I  did 
discover  a  little  strong-box  in  the  top  drawer 
of  the  dresser.  It  lay  wide  open.  It  had  a 
curious  lock.  In  that,  I  was  sure,  he  would 
put  the  jewels  if  he  ever  wanted  to  move  them. 
There  was  no  sign  of  the  bill  of  sale.  It  oc 
curred  to  me,  then,  that  Captain  Hanska  might 
be  carrying  it  on  his  person.  I  knew  him  to 
be  a  very  sound  sleeper — he  had  boasted  to 
me  of  that,  and  he  proved  it  by  sleeping 
through  a  fire  at  his  hotel  when  he  was  in 
Port  of  Spain.  So  I  did  a  dangerous  thing. 


298  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Without  speaking  to  Juan,  I  went  down  the 
fire-escape  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  a 
night  when  Captain  Hanska  was  at  home,  and 
looked  through  his  pockets.  I  even  examined 
all  the  papers  in  his  wallet  by  the  light  of  the 
electric  torch.  But  it  was  not  there.  Juan, 
when  I  told  him,  was  angry  with  me  for  tak 
ing  such  a  risk.  He  made  me  promise  never 
to  enter  the  room  again  unless  Captain  Han- 
ska  was  away. 

"And  then  we  found  that  we  must  act 
quickly,  or  lose  our  property  forever.  Juan 
was  watching  Captain  Hanska,  following  his 
movements  very  closely.  That  day — the  day 
and  night  when  everything  happened — the 
Captain  visited  a  jeweler  in  Maiden  Lane — 
I  think  you  call  it.  He  stayed  a  long  time. 
From  there  he  went  to  a  safe  deposit  bank. 
When  he  came  out,  he  had  a  package  in  his 
pocket — Juan  could  see  his  coat  bulge.  Juan 
was  afraid  that  he  would  go  straight  back  to 
the  jeweler  and  make  the  sale;  and  then  our 
last  hope  would  have  been  gone.  Instead, 
Captain  Hanska  went  to  a  cafe  and  sat  alone 
a  long  time,  drinking.  When  he  left  that 
place,  he  returned  to  Mrs.  Moore's.  And  the 


299 

shape  of  his  pocket  showed  that  he  still  carried 
the  package. 

"It  was  plain  to  us  that  the  package  con 
tained  the  jewels,  and  that  he  intended  to  dis 
pose  of  them  at  once — probably  the  next  morn 
ing.  That  night  the  jewels  would  be  in  his 
room — and  it  was  our  last  chance.  Juan  came 
to  see  me  just  after  dinner.  We  talked  it  all 
over,  and  made  our  final  plans.  In  the  first 
place,  it  seemed  best  for  Juan  to  do  the  work 
himself.  I  am  a  woman,  and  very  weak  with 
grief  and  illness.  I  could  do  nothing  in  case 
I  was  discovered.  Though  Juan  had  never 
been  in  the  room,  I  could  tell  him  exactly 
where  to  look — there  seemed  no  doubt  that 
Captain  Hanska  was  keeping  the  strong-box 
for  that  very  purpose. 

"Then  we  considered  another  thing — how 
we  should  both  get  away.  At  first  we  decided 
that  I  should  leave  the  house  early,  and  that 
Juan,  after  getting  the  jewels,  should  follow 
me.  But  he  did  not  dare  to  make  the  attempt 
before  one  or  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when 
Captain  Hanska  would  surely  be  asleep — even 
the  heaviest  sleepers  sometime  lie  awake  a  long 
time  after  they  go  to  bed.  Mrs.  Moore,  we 


300  THE  RED  BUTTON 

knew,  was  very  watchful — she  was  afraid  of 
burglars  and  she  had  a  habit  of  running  to 
her  door  whenever  any  one  entered  or  left  dur 
ing  the  night.  She  would  know  that  I  had 
gone  out;  if  Juan  left  at  one  or  two  in  the 
morning,  Mrs.  Moore  would  take  alarm,  know 
ing  as  she  did  that  I  was  out  of  the  house. 
Being  nervous  and  ignorant,  she  was  likely, 
we  felt,  to  seize  him  or  to  give  some  sort  of 
an  alarm.  We  were  thinking  of  every  possi 
bility,  you  see.  These  things  are  necessary 
for  me  to  tell,  that  you  may  understand  what 
happened  later." 

(This  in  answer  to  an  objection  of  Inspector 
McGee,  who  was  urging  her  to  come  to  the 
point. ) 

"At  about  ten  o'clock,  we  decided  just  what 
to  do. 

"Juan  and  I  are  about  of  a  size.  I  am  large 
for  a  woman.  He  is  small  for  a  man.  We  do 
not  resemble  each  other  in  the  upper  part  of 
the  face,  but  our  mouths  and  chins  are  very 
much  alike.  It  was  one  of  our  games  at  home 
to  dress  in  each  other's  clothes.  I  would  put 
on  his  ulster,  pull  his  hat  far  down  over  my 
eyes,  and  fool  people  into  believing  that  I  was 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE         301 

he.  Further,  his  voice  is  light,  and  he  can 
talk  in  falsetto.  This  was  an  old  family  game. 
We  played  eternally  on  the  resemblance  in  the 
charades  and  theatricals  that  English  people 
are  always  getting  up. 

"This  was  our  plan:  we  were  to  change 
clothes.  We  had  heard  people  singing  in  the 
parlor  all  that  evening.  The  boarders  all 
knew  that  Juan  sometimes  sang  falsetto  in  fun. 
I  was  to  watch  my  chance  when  the  hall  was 
vacant,  pass  the  parlor,  sing  just  a  little  in 
my  own  voice  to  make  them  believe  I  was  Juan 
singing  falsetto,  and  go  to  his  rooms,  where 
I  was  to  wait.  The  night  was  rainy.  It  was 
natural,  therefore,  that  I  should  be  bundled  up 
in  a  mackintosh  and  have  my  hat  pulled  down 
over  my  eyes. 

"Dressed  in  my  clothes,  Juan  was  to  enter 
Captain  Hanska's  room,  get  the  jewels,  leave 
by  the  door,  go  down  the  stairs,  and  join  me. 
I  used  sometimes  to  get  a  little  outdoor  exer 
cise  in  the  early  morning  when  I  need  not  fear 
meeting  Captain  Hanska,  and  when  most  of 
the  city  lights  are  out,  so  that  the  eyes  have 
less  strain.  If  Mrs.  Moore  waked,  looked  out, 
and  saw  Juan  in  my  clothes,  she  would  think 


302  THE  RED  BUTTON, 

it  was  I  going  for  my  exercise  and  take  no 
alarm. 

"In  case  Juan  failed,  he  was  to  go  back  to 
my  room  and  telephone  to  me,  speaking  Span 
ish  and  imitating  my  voice.  Then,  still  dressed 
as  Juan,  I  was  to  return  to  Mrs.  Moore's  early 
next  morning  and  change  clothes — but  that 
part  of  our  plan  does  not  matter. 

"We  began  everything  just  as  we  planned. 
As  I  went  down  the  stairs,  I  passed  Mrs. 
Moore.  In  the  hall,  I  saw  a  young  man — 
Mr.  Wade,  I  believe.  I  showed  myself  at  the 
door  and  looked  in,  and  sang  a  little.  By  the 
wray  they  laughed  and  spoke,  I  knew  that  I  had 
deceived  them. 

"I  went  straight  to  Juan's  rooms.  The  ele 
vator  man  in  his  hotel  was  fooled  just  as  much 
as  the  boarders,  it  seems.  I  waited  there  a 
long  time.  Then  Juan  telephoned  to  me,  talk 
ing  in  Spanish  and  calling  me  Juan,  as  if  he 
were  I.  He  said  that  Captain  Hanska  had 
been  murdered  and  for  me  to  come  at  once 
to  him — that  he  needed  me — he  said  it  all  as 
a  hysterical  woman  would.  Somehow  I  man 
aged  to  do  as  he  asked.  I  had  to  pass  Cap 
tain  Hanska's  door.  I  heard  people  making 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE         303 

a  noise  inside.  Of  course  I  did  not  enter.  But 
right  by  the  door  I  saw  something  bright.  I 
knew  it  at  once — it  was  one  of  my  diamond 
buckles — one  of  the  jewels  which  Captain 
Hanska  had  stolen  from  me.  I  picked  it  up, 
and  went  on  to  my  room.  Juan  was  there — in 
my  dress.  He  kept  me  from  fainting  or  dy 
ing  while  we  changed  back  to  our  own  clothes. 
I  know  the  rest  from  Juan.  Shall  I  tell  it?" 

(At  about  this  point,  occurred  one  of  those 
irruptions  of  expletives,  broken  sentences, 
pleas,  prayers,  which  always  mar  a  confession 
for  legal  purposes,  and  is,  therefore,  edited  out 
by  the  police  before  the  finished  typewritten 
statement  goes  back  to  the  witness  for  his  sig 
nature.  This  extraneous  matter,  you  see, 
tends  to  create  in  the  minds  of  unthinking  per 
sons  a  false  sentiment  for  the  criminal.) 

"Juan  said  that  he  waited  until  after  one 
o'clock.  The  house  was  quiet.  From  the  win 
dow  of  the  lumber-room,  he  crawled  to  the  fire- 
escape.  That  window  had  a  spring-catch — 
you  had  only  to  pull  it  down  and  it  locked  of 
itself.  Since  he  intended  to  leave  Captain 
Hanska's  room  by  the  door,  he  closed  this  win 
dow  behind  him  in  order  to  cover  up  his  tracks. 


304.  THE  RED  BUTTON 

That  window  of  the  Captain's  room  which  led 
to  the  fire-escape,  was  open  for  ventilation. 
The  rain  was  drifting  through  it.  It  occurred 
to  Juan  that  everything  would  be  safer  if  he 
closed  it — he  was  afraid  that  a  gust  of  wind 
might  blow  spray  into  Captain  Hanska's  face, 
and  wake  him.  He  did  that;  and  he  fastened 
the  sash  with  the  catch.  Captain  Hanska  was 
asleep,  breathing  very  heavily.  Remember 
that. 

"You  have  seen  the  room.  The  bureau, 
where  I  found  the  strong-box,  was  in  the  corner 
farthest  from  the  window  which  Juan  had  just 
entered.  Between  it  and  the  window  were  a 
table  and  Captain  Hanska's  bed.  Juan  car 
ried  our  pocket  electric  torch.  He  turned  it 
on  the  inside  of  the  top  bureau  drawer.  The 
box  was  there.  Also,  the  key  was  in  its  lock. 
Juan  thought  it  would  be  better  to  take  the 
jewels  out  and  leave  the  box.  By  doing  that 
he  could  find  whether  the  bill  of  sale  was  with 
the  jewels,  or  whether  he  would  have  to  search 
further  for  it.  That  was  his  great  mistake. 
It  was  a  trick  box.  Inside  was  an  alarm-bell 
which  rang  whenever  the  cover  was  lifted. 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE         305 

"Juan  opened  it;  the  bell  rang.  Captain 
Hanska  awoke  at  once.  Juan  had  no  time 
to  move,  before  Captain  Hanska  pressed  the 
button  at  the  head  of  his  bed  and  turned  on 
the  electric  light.  It  must»have  bewildered  him 
for  a  moment  wThen  he  saw  what  appeared  to 
be  a  woman  standing  by  his  bureau — but  Juan 
held  the  strong-box  in  his  hands.  When  he 
saw  that,  the  Captain  came  at  him.  Juan  is 
a  small  man.  Captain  Hanska  was  big  and 
very  powerful.  Just  then,  Juan  saw  on  the 
table  between  them  that  great  knife. 

"Juan  is  a  swordsman.  He  picked  up  the 
knife  to  stop  the  Captain  by  threatening  him 
with  it — held  the  point  toward  his  chest. 
Captain  Hanska  was  a  brave  man,  and  very 
violent  in  anger.  He  had  one  of  his  terrible 
spells  of  temper  now.  He  began  to  curse 
Juan.  And  then  his  hands  went  up  to  his  head 
all  of  a  sudden,  and  he  tumbled  over  with 
all  his  great  weight  on  the  point  of  the  knife. 
Juan  did  not  thrust — he  is  sure  now  he  did 
not  thrust — he  only  held  the  knife  steady — but 
it  pierced  Captain  Hanska  through."  (In  this 
place,  Detective  Kennedy  had  to  edit  the  state- 


306  THE  RED  BUTTON 

ment  a  great  deal  in  order  to  make  it  seemly 
for  the  official  archives. ) 

•          •••..,, 

We  will  leave  for  a  moment  the  police  state 
ment. 

"Fell  on  it?"  asked  Martin  McGee. 
"What's  that  you're  trying  to  give  us?" 

"On  my  soul  and  my  mother's,"  solemnly 
declared  Miss  Estrilla.  "Don't  you  see — can't 
you  understand?  A  doctor  in  Port  of  Spain 
had  warned  him  of  it — Juan  has  done  nothing 
since — nothing — but  read  medical  books — he 
was  dead  before  he  touched  the  point  of  the 
knife — if  Juan  stabbed  him,  he  stabbed  a 
corpse — Captain  Hanska  died  of  apoplexy 
caused  by  his  anger!" 

During  these  last  dramatic  stages  of  Miss 
Estrilla's  narrative,  Rosalie  Le  Grange  had 
slipped  into  the  room.  For  a  moment,  Miss 
Estrilla  gazed  full  upon  her  betrayer.  For  a 
moment,  all  that  the  tropics  had  given  her  of 
storm  and  flame  glared  from  her  eyes.  Then 
that  light  died  away.  Thereafter,  it  was  as 
though  Rosalie  had  not  been.  If  Miss  Es 
trilla's  glance,  wandering  from  one  point  to 
another  in  her  effort  to  concentrate  on  her  nar- 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE         307 

rative,   touched   upon   Rosalie's   figure,   they 
looked  straight  through  it. 

Rosalie  moved  by  imperceptible  stages  to 
Detective  Kennedy's  table.  Casually,  she 
picked  up  a  fountain  pen  and  a  sheet  of  paper, 
and  wrote: 

"NEW  YORK,  Nov.  18,  190—. 
r'I  am  telling  to  the  police  all  I  know  of  my 
part  in  the  death  of  Captain  John  H.  Hanska. 
I  have  confessed  that  we  followed  him  to 
America  to  get  jewels,  and  that  it  was  my 
brother  Juan  who  appeared  to  have  stabbed 
him." 

The  Inspector  was  questioning  gently  now 
upon  the  apoplexy  theory,  hoping  to  trap  the 
witness  into  an  inconsistency.  While  she 
talked,  Miss  Estrilla  (or  Senorita  Perez) 
paused  from  time  to  time  as  though  gathering 
strength.  Rosalie  waited  for  such  a  pause. 
Then  she  braced  the  paper  on  a  book  and 
slipped  up  to  Inspector  McGee. 

"You've  forgotten  this,"  she  said,  "you  were 
goin'  to  git  it  signed  at  the  very  first,  you 
know." 


308  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Inspector  McGee's  expression  proved  that 
he  was  puzzled.  But  he  had  become  accus 
tomed  to  following  Rosalie's  mental  flights 
without  knowledge  of  their  destination.  He 
nodded,  therefore,  and  gave  book,  paper  and 
pen  to  Miss  Estrilla.  It  was  the  best  possible 
compliment  to  the  Inspector's  Third  Degree 
methods,  that  she  signed  without  a  protest. 
Rosalie  took  the  paper  silently;  but  she  did 
not  deposit  it  where  it  belonged — among  the 
official  papers  on  Detective  Kennedy's  table. 
As  she  resumed  her  station  outside  the  door, 
she  was  folding  it  in  her  fingers. 

The  police  went  on,  then,  with  their  search- 
ings  and  questionings.  They  failed  to  notice, 
so  absorbed  were  they,  the  sound  of  retreating 
footsteps  on  the  stairs. 

We  resume,  with  the  painstaking  Detective 
Kennedy,  the  statement  of  Margarita  Perez, 
alias  Estrilla. 

"It  was  apoplexy.  But  Juan  did  not  know 
it  yet.  He  only  knew  that  Captain  Hanska 
had  fallen  on  the  knife  and  died,  and  that  it 
would  look  like  murder.  He  understood  your 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE         309 

law ;  he  knew  that  to  get  our  property  he  was 
committing  what  looked  like  burglary,  and  that 
a  burglar  who  commits  murder  can  not  plead 
self-defense.  He  waited  by  the  window  to  see 
whether  the  fall  had  disturbed  the  house.  No 
one  stirred — probably  an  elevated  train  was 
passing  at  the  time  it  happened.  Frightened 
as  he  was,  he  still  thought  of  the  jewels,  and 
decided  to  take  them,  whatever  the  risk.  He 
examined  the  box;  the  bill  of  sale  was  there. 
Circumstances  had  changed  now;  an  empty 
strong-box  in  the  room  of  a  man  who  appeared 
to  have  been  murdered,  might  set  the  police 
on  the  track.  He  thought  of  this.  So  he  took 
the  box,  open  as  it  was,  switched  off  the  elec 
tric  light,  and  started  to  leave  by  the  door. 
The  catch  of  the  spring-lock  was  on.  To  lock 
the  room  from  outside,  he  would  have  had  to 
slam  the  door — you  know  how  a  spring-lock 
works.  That  would  have  made  a  great  deal  of 
noise.  It  might  awaken  some  one,  who  would 
hear  footsteps  going  from  Captain  Hanska's 
room  to  mine.  He  put  the  box  under  his  arm 
and  fastened  back  the  catch  of  the  spring-lock, 
so  that  he  could  close  the  door  without  sound. 
Of  course,  that  left  it  unlocked.  In  doing  all 


310  THE  RED  BUTTON 

this,  it  seems,  he  spilled  out  of  the  box  the 
diamond  buckle  which  I  found  on  the  stairs. 

"Juan  went  back  to  my  room  because  he 
wanted  time  to  think.  His  first  idea  was  to 
leave  the  house  dressed  in  my  clothes,  just  as 
we  had  planned,  and  join  me.  Then  we  would 
escape  together.  But  he  knew  that  the  police 
generally  catch  fugitives  from  justice  in  the 
end.  We  were  in  a  strange  country.  We  had 
no  friends  to  help  us.  If  we  were  missing 
from  the  house  in  the  morning,  if  we  were 
caught  escaping,  every  one  would  believe  us 
guilty.  Then  he  had  another  idea.  If  I  could 
return,  still  disguised  as  Juan,  after  the  body 
was  discovered,  he  would  have  a  perfect  alibi. 

"While  he  was  thinking  about  this,  Mr. 
North  came  home  and  fell  into  the  blood,  as 
you  know. 

"Immediately,  Juan  heard  some  one  calling 
murder  from  below.  That  was  his  chance  to 
carry  out  his  plan.  He  telephoned  to  me.  I 
came.  I  have  told  you  about  that.  He 
changed  to  his  own  clothes.  I  made  him  go 
down-stairs  and  offer  to  help.  My  clothes, 
which  Juan  had  worn  down  the  fire-escape 
in  the  rain,  were  still  a  little  wet.  I  looked 


THE  THIRD  DEGREE         311 

them  over  carefully ;  there  were  no  blood-stains 
on  them.  I  put  them  by  the  register  to  dry; 
and  I  cleaned  the  shoes — that  pair  of  red  ones 
there  in  the  closet.  By  the  time  they  came  to 
take  me  away  to  this  house,  no  one  would  have 
known  that  my  garments  had  been  out  in  the 
wet. 

"When  they  moved  me,  I  took  away  the 
jewels  and  the  strong-box  in  my  bedding.  La 
ter  Juan  dropped  the  box  into  the  river,  and 
sent  the  jewels  to  my  cousin  in  Caracas. 

"It  was  his  plan  to  leave  the  country  as  soon 
as  we  might  do  so  without  attracting  suspi 
cion.  But  when  they  arrested  Mr.  Wade,  I 
could  not  agree  to  that — I  could  not  have  his 
death  on  my  soul.  Juan  was  imploring  me 
to  leave ;  but  I  told  him  that  I  would  not  until 
Mr.  Wade  was  released  or  acquitted.  If  it 
came  to  the  worst,  I  would  confess.  I  per 
suaded  Juan  that  I  was  right.  That  is  why 
we  stayed.  We  had  no  other  reason. 

"I  make  this  statement  without  hope  or  offer 
of  reward  or  immunity,  solely  in  the  interest 
of  justice. 

"MARGARITA  PEREZ." 


312  THE  RED  BUTTON 

I  reiterate — this  narrative,  which  to  you  may 
seem  to  run  so  plainly  and  simply,  was  broken 
all  along  the  way  with  police  questions,  with 
exclamations,  with  hesitations,  with  paroxysms, 
mental  and  physical.  At  times,  the  voice  of 
Miss  Estrilla  (or  Senora  Perez)  was  a  mere 
whisper  of  horror.  At  times  it  swelled  to  a 
full  poignant  note  as  she  tried  to  make  her 
points  in  Juan's  defense.  Now,  as  she  fin 
ished,  it  simply  ran  down  until  it  was  silence. 
And  with  the  tired  motion  of  a  child  who  falls 
asleep,  she  quietly  fainted. 

"Here,  Kennedy,  get  some  water!"  ex 
claimed  Inspector  McGee.  "Mrs.  Le  Grange 
— Rose — Mrs.  Le  Grange." 

Receiving  no  answer,  McGee  searched  the 
hall.  She  was  not  there.  He  went  down 
stairs,  calling.  He  had  reached  the  second 
floor  landing  when  Mrs.  Leary's  voice  an 
swered  him  from  below. 

"She  went  out  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago," 
called  Mrs.  Leary.  "You  said  we  were  to  do 
what  she  told  us,  so  I  let  her  through.  Wasn't 
that  all  right,  Chief?" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  KUSE 

"1  JI  THEN  Rosalie  Le  Grange  named  the 
V  V  Hotel  Deidrich  to  the  taxicab  chauf 
feur,  her  object — she  followed  here  but  an  old 
instinct — was  to  cover  her  tracks  in  case  of 
many  contingencies.  She  dismissed  the  cab, 
however,  at  the  north  door  of  the  Deidrich, 
walked  through  the  lobby  to  the  west  entrance, 
walked  out  on  Broadway,  walked  a  block  south. 
There,  spying  another  taxicab  whose  meter 
displayed  the  red  sign  "vacant,"  she  comman 
deered  it,  and  announced  her  real  objective. 

"Casino — Central  Park — go  fast!"  she  said. 
During  the  drive  she  stared  straight  ahead  and 
talked  in  low  undertones  to  herself.  This  was 
an  old  habit,  born  of  her  half -believed,  half-as 
sumed  "mediumship"  in  her  days  of  active 
practise.  In  these  later  days  she  was  still  wont 
to  argue  out  in  soft  phrases  of  her  lips  the 

313 


314  THE  RED  BUTTON 

problems  of  her  soul.  One  who  had  overheard 
these  scattered  phrases  now  would  have  known 
that  she  was  still  fighting  for  a  decision. 

"Well,  ain't  the  world  been  good  to  me 
lately?"  she  was  saying  as  they  swept  into  the 
Park  entrance.  "Can't  I  afford  to  take  a 
chance  with  myself — an'  happiness?"  And 
then,  "Oh,  how  will  Martin  look  at  it — Mar 
tin!" 

A  little  later,  as  the  taxicab  took  the  rolling 
drive  beside  a  park  lake,  she  was  saying : 

"I  couldn't  bear  it  if  he  was  sent  to  the  chair 
— I  could  never  live  through  it — I'd  die,  too." 
It  seemed  that  upon  this  statement  she  made 
her  decision,  for  she  talked  to  herself  no  more 
until  the  taxicab  rolled  up  before  the  Casino 
and  stopped.  And  as  she  rose,  her  smile  broke 
out  for  the  first  time  in  that  passage.  But  it 
was  a  grave  smile,  whose  softness  did  not  reach 
to  her  eyes — as  though  one  smiled  with  the 
humor  of  God  at  the  tragic  comedy  in  this 
world. 

"An'  she  called  me  a  traitor — an'  she'll  al 
ways  believe  it,  what's  more,"  she  said. 

The  piazza  of  the  Casino,  so  gay  and  colorful 
in  summer,  lay  bleak  and  bare  now  under  the 


A  RUSE  315 

cold  November  wind  and  fading  afternoon 
light,  so  that  Rosalie,  sensitive  to  physical  im 
pressions  what  with  the  tensity  of  her  soul, 
shuddered  as  she  passed  from  the  steps  to  the 
door.  Within,  only  a  few  lights  were  on;  the 
restaurant,  plainly,  was  letting  business  fade 
away  toward  its  winter  quiescence.  Near  the 
door  sat  a  couple ;  then  two  men ;  and  there,  in 
the  remote  corner,  was  a  glint  of  golden  hair 
which  could  be  only  Betsy-Barbara's.  Oppo 
site  sat  the  focus  of  her  search — him  whom  Bet 
sy-Barbara  still  thought  to  be  Senor  Estrilla. 
He  was  smiling  just  then,  and  his  hands  were 
playing  in  swift,  expressive  little  gestures.  As 
Rosalie  Le  Grange  waved  aside  the  head  waiter 
and  took  her  interminable  journey  across  the 
room,  it  occurred  to  her  that  however  she  fin 
ished  and  tied  this  complex  web  of  hers,  these 
might  be  the  last  smiles  on  his  lips  for  many  a 
weary  day. 

He  sat  facing  the  door ;  he  perceived  her  first ; 
he  rose  with  an  expression  of  real  surprise  and 
pleasure.  "Why,  Mrs.  Le  Grange!  How 
did  you  get  here?"  he  said.  But  now  his  eye 
caught  Betsy-Barbara.  She,  too,  had  risen,  as 
one  who  acts  at  last  after  long  strain  of  repres- 


316  THE  RED  BUTTON 

sion.  Her  color  came  and  went ;  she  was  look 
ing  at  Rosalie  and  then  back  at  Estrilla. 

"Miss  Lane,"  said  Rosalie  in  a  quiet  mean 
ing  voice,  "we'll  excuse  you.  Take  your  coat, 
dear." 

Estrilla  opened  his  mouth  as  though  to  pro 
test,  made  an  inarticulate  sound,  stopped.  A 
green  tinge  came  over  his  face;  beginning  at 
his  mouth,  it  crawled  upward  until  it  enveloped 
his  eyes,  as  a  cloud-shadow  creeps  across  a 
landscape.  He  leaned  forward;  his  hands 
touched  the  table;  and  so  he  steadied  himself. 
But  never  once  did  he  turn  toward  Betsy-Bar 
bara,  now  vanishing  almost  at  a  run.  His  eyes 
were  on  Rosalie. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  asked. 

"It  means  first  that  you  had  better  sit  down," 
she  said.  "The  waiter's  lookin'  this  way.  A 
man  in  your  position  can't  afford  to  make  a 
scene  in  a  public  place." 

Estrilla  sank  with  an  unsteady  motion  into 
his  chair.  At  this  physical  support,  he  seemed 
to  grip  his  nerve. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  my  position?  Why 
do  you  come  this  way —  Why — " 

"Listen.     First  of  all,  I'm  your  friend.     Get 


A  RUSE  317 

that  right  away! — I'm  here  to  help  you.  An' 
I'm  in  a  hurry.  So  are  you.  Remember  to 
hold  on  to  yourself  while  I  tell  you  what  I've 
got  to  tell.  The  police  have  your  sister.  By 
to-night  they'll  be  after  you." 

Estrilla  gripped  the  arms  of  his  chair;  the 
green  shade  crept  back.  He  moistened  his  lips 
once  or  twice  with  his  tongue. 

"Remember!"  went  on  Rosalie  under  her 
voice,  "no  scene.  Hold  on  to  yourself.  Mak- 
in'  one  now  is  the  last  thing  you  ought  to  do. 
Is  the  bill  paid?  All  right.  Now  get  your 
hat.  Now  put  on  your  ulster.  Yes,  your 
gloves  an'  your  stick!"  Estrilla  obeyed  her 
docilely.  "Now  come  with  me  into  the  park — 
it's  safer,  because  we  can  watch." 

"But  my  sister — I  don't  care  for  myself — 
I  must  go  to — " 

"I'm  here,"  said  Rosalie  Le  Grange,  "to  do 
what  I  can  for  you  an'  your  sister  both.  Now 
come,  I  tell  you — or  will  you  keep  on  bein'  a 
fool?"  At  this  dash  of  mental  cold  water,  he 
rose.  Rosalie  walked  close  behind  him,  ready 
to  support  him  should  he  stagger.  Outside,  a 
park  foot-policeman  walked  slowly  down  the 
path.  Estrilla  saw  him,  started,  hesitated. 


318  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Not  unless  you  make  a  scene!"  cried  Rosa 
lie,  anticipating  his  thought.  "I'm  not  arrest 
ing  you — can't  you  understand  that?"  She 
hurried  him  to  a  lonely  park  bench,  half  hidden 
in  the  shrubbery.  When  she  turned  to  look 
him  full  in  the  face  again,  his  color  was  normal ; 
he  had  regained  his  grip.  And  he  spoke  with 
a  touch  of  his  old  boyish  insouciance. 

"This  is  a  little  melodrama  you  are  staging, 
Mrs.  Le  Grange?  Am  I  the  hero  or  the  vil 
lain?" 

"I  expected  you  to  be  suspicious  an'  try  to 
bluff  this  through,"  said  Rosalie  in  her  most 
matter-of-fact  tone,  "that's  wrhy  I  stole  this 
note  an'  brought  it  here."  She  had  been  keep 
ing  her  hands  in  her  muff.  She  drew  them  out, 
now,  and  handed  him  the  vital  paper : 

"I  am  telling  to  the  police  all  I  know  of  my 
part  and  my  brother's  part  in  the  death  of 
Captain  John  H.  Hanska.  I  have  confessed 
that  we  followed  him  to  America  to  get  my 
jewels,  and  that  it  was  my  brother  Juan  who 
appeared  to  have  stabbed  him. 

"MARGARITA  PEREZ." 


A  RUSE  319 

He  read  it.  As  he  looked  up  he  was  still 
master  of  himself,  but  Rosalie  could  perceive 
behind  his  mask  a  kind  of  vibration,  an  inner 
agitation  of  all  his  nerves.  Suddenly  one  of 
his  legs  began  to  move  as  though  the  great 
muscles  of  the  thigh  were  twitching.  But  his 
will  still  mastered  his  voice. 

"Margarita  Perez — who  is  she?" 

"She  is  your  sister.  You  are  Juan  Perez — 
not  Estrilla.  You  are  from  Port  of  Spain. 
You  came  here  to  follow  Captain  Hanska— 

"Where  did  you  hear  this?"  inquired  Estrilla, 
with  a  pitiful  attempt  to  put  sarcasm  into  his 
voice. 

"I  have  been  listening  to  her  confession,"  re 
plied  Rosalie  calmly.  "She  told  the  police — 
after  she  signed  that  paper — how  you  went  into 
Captain  Hanska's  room  at  night  to  get  your 
family  jewels,  how  that  trick  alarm  on  his 
strong-box  woke  him  up,  an'  how  you  killed 
him—" 

But  Juan  Estrilla  had  leaped  up  now  as 
though  his  nerves  would  be  denied  no  longer. 

"You  are  here  to  betray  me — I  know  it  now !" 
he  said.  Somewhere,  somehow,  the  native  cun- 


320  THE  RED  BUTTON 

ning  of  him  kept  his  voice  low.  To  one  pass 
ing,  his  action  would  have  seemed  but  the  ges 
ture  of  heated  argument.  "You  are  a  spy! 
She  did  not  tell  that — she  knows  I  did  not  kill 
him!"  He  stood  shaking.  "But  what  are 
you?  Have  the  police  sent  you — " 

"Now,  Mr.  Estrilla,"  said  Rosalie,  in  her 
most  soothing  tone,  "I'm  goin'  to  answer  a  lot 
that's  in  your  mind  before  we  sit  right  down  an' 
get  to  cases.  In  the  first  place,  we're  alone 
here  in  the  park.  You're  a  young  man  an'  I'm 
an  old  woman.  If  you  wanted  to,  you  could 
get  away  from  me  right  now — easiest  thing  you 
know  to  duck  into  that  shrubbery  an'  run.  If 
I  was  a  female  policeman  comin'  to  git  a  con 
fession  an'  then  pinch  you,  do  you  suppose  I'd 
go  at  it  this  way?  Do  you  suppose  I'd  begin 
by  breakin'  the  news  to  you  an'  givin'  you  a 
chance  to  run  before  I  learned  anythin'  at  all? 
You've  been  a  fool  all  this  time,  Mr.  Perez. 
Don't  cap  it  all  by  delayin',  when  time  is  as 
valuable  as  it  is." 

"How  did  you  know  where  to  find  me  if  you 
aren't  a  spy?"  said  Estrilla. 

"I  suspected  this  trouble  was  comin',''  re 
plied  Rosalie  Le  Grange.  "I  sent  Miss  Lane 


A  RUSE  321 

to  deliver  you  here  at  five  o'clock — because  it's 
an  out-of-the-way  place  an'  quiet.  Sit  down." 

Estrilla  shook  as  he  resumed  his  seat. 

"Does  she  know?"  he  asked. 

"Not  yet!"  said  Rosalie. 

"I  didn't  give  her  my  real  reason.  I  was 
glad,"  she  pursued,  "to  hear  you  bust  out  in 
that  sincere  way  when  I  said  you  killed  Han- 
ska.  I  put  that  in  for  a  test ;  an'  you  stood  it. 
Now  sit  there  and  listen  to  what  else  your  sis 
ter  said,  an'  see  if  any  of  that  could  have  been 
worked  out  by  detectives.  She  says  you  didn't 
kill  Hanska,  that  he  died  of  apoplexy  an'  fell 
on  the  knife  you  was  holdin'  against  him." 

Estrilla  turned  his  great  eyes  and  moistened 
his  lips  as  though  to  speak;  but  he  held  to  his 
nerve  and  made  no  sound. 

"She  says  that  you  carried  out  that  box  of 
jewels  with  the  cover  open,  an'  that  a  diamond 
buckle  dropped  out  as  you  were  passing 
through  the  door.  An'  when  she  came  back  in 
your  clothes  after  you  telephoned  to  her,  she 
picked  it  up.  The  jewels  are  in  Caracas. 
You  dropped  the  box  in  the  river.  Could  any 
body  patch  that  together?  Could  anybody 
guess  that?" 


322  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Then  if  he  died  of  apoplexy — if  I  didn't 
kill  him — why  would  they  arrest  me?"  asked 
Estrilla. 

"Young  man,"  said  Rosalie,  "how  could  you 
prove  it?"  > 

Innocently  and  directly,  Estrilla  came  out 
with  what  amounted  to  his  confession. 

"He  was  always  in  danger  from  apoplexy — 
my  sister  knew  that.  And  undoubtedly  it  was 
a  mortal  seizure.  For  his  hands  were  going  to 
ward  his  head,  not  toward  the  knife.  Even 
when  he  fell  and  died,  his  hands  were  still  going 
up,  not  down.  I  have  seen  doctors.  I  have 
read  about  apoplexy  in  every  medical  book  in 
the  Public  Library.  And  when  I  saw  him  last 
— there  was  blood  in  his  nostrils." 

Rosalie  nodded. 

"I  saw  that,  too.  My,  but  Coroner's  physi 
cians  are  dense!"  she  said.  "Now  I've  got  to 
talk  hard  and  straight.  You  were  in  the  act 
of  burglary.  It  don't  make  no  difference  that 
you  had  a  right  to  burgle — no  jury  would  rec 
ognize  that.  The  Coroner's  physician  never 
thought  of  anything  but  that  stab  wound — 
never  thought  to  look  for  apoplexy — case 
seemed  too  plain.  You  an'  I  are  the  only  peo- 


A  RUSE  823 

pie  who  thought  about  that  bloody  nose.  The 
body's  cremated,  an'  even  if  it  wasn't — well,  we 
won't  go  into  that.  Why  Juan  Perez,  they'd 
laugh  at  you.  Do  you  see?  Don't  you  get 
your  fix?" 

He  was  trembling,  and  now  he  made  a  piti 
ful  movement  with  his  hands  as  though  to 
steady  his  head. 

"So  you  must  get  away." 

"But  my  sister — " 

"Now  hold  on  to  yourself.  I've  got  to  talk 
awful  to  make  you  see  this  thing.  She  didn't 
kill  him — she  couldn't.  Anybody  could  see 
that.  A  sick  little  thing  like  her  hasn't  the 
power  in  her  to  drive  such  a  knife  into  a  big 
man  who's  standin'  on  his  feet.  No  jury  would 
swallow  it.  She's  accessory  or  somethin' — but 
you  can  bet,  Mr.  Juan  Perez,  that  an  American 
jury  ain't  goin'  to  give  a  verdict  against  a  sick 
little  woman  who's  an  accessory  because  she's 
standin'  by  her  brother.  They  may  do  that  in 
English  countries,  but  not  here.  An'  which  do 
you  think  would  be  better  for  your  sister — to 
go  to  jail  until  her  trial,  or  to  wait  by  the  gate 
of  Sing  Sing  an'  take  you  away  some  morning 
all  dead  an'  floppy  after  you'd  had  ten  thousand 


324  THE  RED  BUTTON 

volts  of  electricity  switched  down  your  spinal 
column — " 

Estrilla  was  on  his  feet  now,  in  a  crisis  of 
nerves.  His  eyes  closed  and  opened  to  a  set 
stare;  every  muscle  seemed  to  jump. 

"I  thought  you'd  see  it,"  said  Rosalie.  "I 
won't  keep  you  in  suspense  any  longer. 
You're  goin'  to  git  away.  An'  I've  fixed  it. 
Look  at  this — here,  take  it!"  She  pulled 
another  paper  from  her  muff,  handed  it  to  Es 
trilla.  It  shook  in  his  hands  as  he  read. 

"A  seaman's  paper,"  he  said  at  length. 

"For  Antonio  Corri,  an  Italian  sailor  signed 
for  the  schooner  Maud.  He  fell  down  a  hatch 
this  morning  an'  broke  his  leg.  An'  he  can't 
go.  You're  shippin'  as  him.  I've  fixed  it. 
The  Captain  don't  know  who  you  are.  He 
only  knows  that  he's  got  a  man  who  must  beat 
it  out  of  the  country — an'  he'll  do  anythin'  for 
me.  He  lands  at  Halifax.  He'll  fix  it  for  you 
to  get  to  the  next  place — wherever  that  may  be. 
I'm  going  to  write  him  at  Halifax  advisin'  him 
about  that.  An'  you're  to  tell  him,  so  he  can 
tell  me,  so  I  can  tell  your  sister,  where  you've 
gone.  Got  any  money  on  you?" 

"Only  a  little." 


A  RUSE  325 

"Well,  the  Captain  has  two  hundred  dollars 
of  mine — for  you.  I  want  you  to  understand 
it's  a  loan  with  interest  at  five  per  cent.,  to  be 
paid  when  it's  safe.  If  you  need  any  more,  I'll 
send  it  to  the  skipper — same  terms.  That's 
agreed?" 

"Yes.     Why  do  you—" 

"Take  all  this  trouble  ?  Old  fool.  Now,  lis 
ten.  There's  a  taxi  over  there  dischargin'  pas 
sengers  at  the  Casino.  We're  goin'  to  flag  it. 
We're  goin'  to  take  it  as  far  as  Sixth  Avenue, 
an'  we'll  travel  by  elevated  the  rest  of  the  way, 
because  guards  don't  remember  their  passen 
gers  an'  taxicab  drivers  sometimes  do.  I  ain't 
takin'  any  risks  of  bein'  traced.  We'll  get  on 
separate  trains  an'  meet  on  the  dock — Pier 
IG1/^  East  River.  Know  how  to  find  that? 
Well,  I'll  tell  you  as  we  go.  Here!  Taxi!" 
And  Rosalie  waved  to  the  chauffeur. 

"Sixth  Avenue  elevated.  Nearest  station," 
she  directed. 

In  the  midst  of  her  minute  instructions,  Es- 
trilla  (or  Perez)  started  once  to  thank  her. 

"How  do  you  come  to  do  this?"  he  said. 
"And  how  did  the  police  ever— 

Rosalie  put  her  mouth  close  to  his  ear. 


326  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Taxis  are  built  funny  sometimes,"  she 
whispered;  "the  chauffeur  might  hear." 

He  turned  on  her  a  caressing  look  of  grati 
tude.  Life  was  back  in  his  face  and  motion 
now.  And  Rosalie,  looking  him  over,  was 
moved  to  speak  in  such  general  terms  as  no 
chauffeur  could  possibly  interpret. 

"What  I  can't  understand,"  she  said,  "is  how 
a  man  could  live  in  a  situation  like  that  an'  be 
gay  an'  natural  an'  take  risks.  Dagos — Ital 
ian  an'  Spanish  an'  such-like  I  mean — must  be 
different.  It  beats  me." 

"We  are  different,"  said  Estrilla.  "I  have 
learned  that."  He  looked  out  on  the  serried 
rows  of  West  Side  apartment-houses,  and 
dropped  for  a  second  into  Spanish. 

"Sangre  de  Dios!"  he  said,  and  then,  "how  I 
shall  always  hate  New  York  I" 

They  were  drawing  up  at  the  elevated. 

"Remember  how  to  get  there?"  she  whispered 
before  she  opened  the  door.  "Sure?  Go  ahead 
an'  take  the  first  train.  I'll  follow  on  the 
next.  Walk  slow  after  you  git  off.  I'll  walk 
fast — neither  of  us  wants  to  loiter  on  that 
pier." 


A  RUSE  327 

If  Estrilla  hoped  that  he  would  hear  further 
clearance  of  these  mysteries  at  the  dock,  he 
was  disappointed.  As  he  passed  the  gate, 
Rosalie  shot  from  under  shadow  of  a  truck. 
She  glanced  to  right  and  left.  None  of  the 
roustabouts  was  looking  or  listening. 

"That  first  gangplank,"  she  said.  "The 
Captain's  aboard  expectin'  you.  Just  say  to 
him,  'I  am  Corri.'  He  knows  the  rest.  You'll 
change  clothes  in  his  cabin.  He'll  keep  you 
at  work  below  until  you  sail — at  daybreak. 
Go — don't  thank  me — go — I'm  sure  you'll  see 
your  sister  in  a  year  or  two.  Go."  Now  for 
the  first  time  in  her  dialogue  with  him,  soft 
emotion  entered  her  voice.  "An'  God  be  good 
to  you!"  she  said.  She  turned  him  almost 
roughly. 

"One  moment,"  he  said;  "my  love  to  my  sis 
ter — oh,  take  care  of  her."  His  voice  grew 
lighter,  then,  and  he  almost  smiled.  "And  tell 
the  mantilla  blanca  for  me  that  she  is  beauti 
ful  and  good!"  He  walked  away.  When  a 
second  later,  he  glanced  back  over  his  shoulder, 
she  was  making  a  rapid  pace  toward  the  dock- 
gate. 


328  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Rosalie  passed  the  shadow  of  the  pier,  and 
gained  sight  of  the  Maud's  deck.  She  saw 
Estrilla  go  aboard,  saw  Captain  Baldwin  meet 
him,  saw  them  enter  the  cabin  together.  She 
waited  no  longer. 

That  was  a  day  of  heavy  personal  expense 
for  Rosalie.  Two  blocks  away  she  took  another 
taxicab.  This  time  she  hesitated  a  moment  be 
fore  she  gave  the  driver  his  directions. 

"Hotel  Cyrano,  Brooklyn,  first,  I  guess." 

After  a  time,  she  began  talking  under  her 
breath  again — repeating  her  last  phrase  to  Es 
trilla. 

'  'God  be  good  to  you' — God  or  somebody 
will  have  to  be  awful  good  to  me,  now."  Then 
her  thought  turned,  and  so  did  her  speech. 

;  'Tell  the  mantilla  blanca  she  is  beautiful' 
— an'  smilin'  when  he  said  it — well,  there's  one 
relievin'  feature,  he  won't  break  his  heart  over 
Betsy-Barbara.  It  was  only  a  flirtation  with 
him,  after  all.  I  wonder  what  they're  made 
of  inside — those  high-class  dagos !" 


CHAPTER  XX 

WHEN    DIMPLES   WIN 

INSPECTOR  MARTIN  McGEE,  as  one 
,  who  must  do  something,  no  matter  how  fu 
tile,  to  lull  his  impatience,  rang  a  bell  on  his 
desk. 

"Send  for  Grimaldi  again,"  he  said  to  the 
doorman. 

"Grimaldi,"  he  greeted  the  scholar  of  the 
Italian  squad,  "what  did  this  Mrs.  Le  Grange 
say  to  you  when  she  let  you  go — and  just 
when  was  it?" 

"It  was  night  before  last,"  replied  Grimaldi. 
"I'd  met  her  for  a  report  and  told  her  that  Es- 
trilla — or  Perez — had  an  engagement  with  his 
tailor  to  try  on  some  clothes  for  two-thirty 
yesterday  afternoon.  She  told  me  then  that 
she  had  finished  with  me,  and  I  was  to  report 
back  to  headquarters — which  I  did  yesterday. 
I  don't  know  why  she  called  me  off  so  sud 
denly;  maybe  she  thought  I  was  spotted. 

329 


330  THE  RED  BUTTON 

She's  a  mysterious  thing,  and  she  never  would 
let  me  know  what  she  was  doing;  but  you  in 
structed  me  to  obey  her  orders  and  ask  no 
questions." 

"Yes,  that's  right,"  responded  the  Inspec 
tor.  "His  rooms — Estrilla's — are  being 
watched  in  case  he  returns?" 

"Yes.  One  man  in  the  house  and  three 
shadowing  from  the  outside.  We've  got  some 
one  at  every  place  where  he's  likely  to  ap 
pear." 

"All  right.     That  will  do." 

But  Grimaldi's  curiosity  got  for  the  moment 
the  better  of  his  sense  of  discipline. 

"This  Mrs.  Le  Grange,"  he  said  at  the  door, 
"where  is  she,  anyhow?" 

"I  wish  I  knew!"  replied  McGee.  "I  wish 
I  knew — that  will  do,  Grimaldi."  Then  the 
Inspector  fell  to  pacing  the  floor  and  to  medita 
ting.  He  had  paced  and  meditated  in  this 
fashion  ever  since  eight  o'clock  that  morning. 
He  durst  not  leave  his  office.  The  search  was 
covered  at  every  point  where  the  missing  crim 
inal  or  the  missing  Rosalie  Le  Grange  might 
be  expected  to  appear.  Here,  at  headquar 
ters,  one  would  get  the  first  news.  He  must 


WHEN  DIMPLES  WIN         331 

stay  in  his  office  until — oh,  why  had  he  trusted 
Rosalie  Le  Grange  to  arrest  a  desperate  crim 
inal  alone?  For  that  Perez,  alias  Estrilla, 
was  a  criminal,  and  the  tale  about  apoplexy  a 
bizarre  invention  of  desperation,  Inspector  Mc- 
Gee,  cynical  by  police  habit,  never  once 
doubted.  One  obvious  suspicion  did  not.  occur 
to  him;  never  for  a  moment  did  he  distrust 
Rosalie.  She  had  gone  out  to  make  the  ar 
rest  single-handed,  for  some  good  reason  of  her 
own.  She  had  failed,  and  dreaded  to  come 
back  without  her  man;  she  had  been  delayed 
and  would  appear  with  him  yet;  she  had  ven 
tured  too  much  and — something  had  happened 
to  her.  Here,  Inspector  McGee  smote  a  fist 
into  an  open  palm  and  swore  under  his  breath. 
That  consideration,  and  not  the  failure  of  the 
department  to  put  the  finishing  touch  on  a  big 
case,  was  the  thing  which  haunted  him  now, 
made  him  unable  to  rest  his  body  or  to  quiet 
his  mind. 

The  last  eighteen  hours  had  been  one  long 
secret  hunt  for  Juan  Perez  alias  Estrilla,  and 
for  Rosalie  Le  Grange.  When,  after  the  de 
tectives  finished  with  Miss  Estrilla — Senorita 
Perez — he  found  Rosalie  Le  Grange  mysteri- 


332  THE  RED  BUTTON 

ously  gone,  he  waited  for  a  time  at  the  house. 
Rosalie  made  no  sign.  Presently,  Miss  Hard 
ing  and  Miss  Jones  came  home  to  dinner,  arid 
afterward  Professor  Noll.  McGee  detained 
them  all.  Seven  o'clock  passed;  and  the  other 
three  boarders  failed,  like  the  landlady,  to  ap 
pear.  They  were  Mr.  North,  Mrs.  Hanska, 
and  Miss  Lane — all  involved  in  the  Hanska 
case.  When  he  noted  this  suspicious  circum 
stance,  he  removed  Miss  Estrilla  to  a  private 
room  in  the  criminal  ward  at  Bellevue. 
Booked  as  Margaret  Perez,  she  attracted  no 
great  attention  from  the  reporters;  especially 
since  a  surgeon,  instructed  in  advance,  gave  out 
a  hint  that  she  was  merely  a  witness  in  a 
counterfeiting  case.  Then  began  an  all-night 
search — for  Estrilla  first,  for  Rosalie  next, 
and,  last  of  all  for  North  and  the  two  women. 
Late  that  night,  Inspector  McGee,  clutching 
at  every  possibility,  visited  Lawrence  Wade  in 
his  cell  at  the  Tombs  and  questioned  him.  The 
announcement  that  Mrs.  Hanska  had  disap 
peared  seemed  to  disturb  him  more  than  any 
device  for  breaking  "silence  that  the  police  had 
ever  used;  but  still  he  maintained  his  attitude 
of  defiant  and  somewhat  insolent  calm.  Un- 


WHEN  DIMPLES  WIN         333 

shaken,  he  stood  all  the  questioning;  and  Mc- 
Gee,  aware  now  of  his  innocence,  had  not  the 
heart  to  crowd  him  to  the  wall. 

So  the  night  had  worn  away;  and  so  the 
morning.  And  Rosalie  Le  Grange  made  no 
sign.  How  long — how  long?  A  vision  en 
tered  the  mind  of  Inspector  McGee — a  flash  of 
imagination  compounded  from  many  old  ex 
periences.  Some  day  the  Coroner  would  re 
port  a  woman's  body  floating  in  the  bay  or 
buried  in  a  cellar.  And  that  body — he  must 
search  the  cellar  under  Estrilla's  rooms.  He 
turned  to  ring  for  a  detective. 

The  doorman  entered. 

"Mrs.  Le  Grange  to  see  you,"  he  said. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  of  brute  force, 
Martin  McGee  felt  his  physical  powers  crum 
bling  and  waning  within  him.  He  sat  down  at 
his  desk.  Rosalie  Le  Grange  had  come. 
That  meant  present  success  and  ultimate  tri 
umph  ;  for  Rosalie  Le  Grange  had  never  failed 
him  yet.  Doubtless  she  had  achieved  another 
of  her  miracles — possibly  Juan  Perez  alias  Es- 
trilla  was  just  behind  her. 

"Show  her  in — and  I'm  engaged — don't  dis 
turb  me  for  anything — until  I  tell  you." 


334  THE  RED  BUTTON 

He  expected  her  to  appear  with  some  of  her 
old  bounce  and  gaiety.  In  the  long  half-min 
ute  before  the  door  opened,  he  pictured  that 
entrance — her  face  smiling,  dimpled;  her  voice 
vibrating  as  though  with  suppressed  laughter; 
her  step  a  miracle  of  lightness  and  spring. 
So  he  started  as  she  stood  for  a  moment  facing 
him.  Dead  of  eye,  dead  of  expression,  dead 
of  tint — she  looked  again  all  her  age.  She 
moved  toward  him  at  a  pace  which  showed  ef 
fort  with  every  step. 

"Well,"  he  cried,  "well!  We've  had  a  chase 
for  you.  Gee !  I  couldn't  think  what  had  hap 
pened  1"  His  professional  concerns  rushed  into 
his  mind  with  the  departure  of  his  greater  anxi 
ety.  "Where  is  he?  Did  you  get  him?"  he 
asked. 

She  had  ignored  the  chair  which  he  pushed 
toward  her.  And  she  simply  shook  her  head. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Martin  McGee.  The 
sharpness  of  his  tone  showed  the  depth  of  his 
old  trust  in  Rosalie.  "What!  That  comes  of 
letting  you  try  to  get  him  alone.  What  a 
damn  fool — did  he  get  away  from  you?" 

Rosalie,  still  looking  into  his  eyes,  shook  her 
head  again. 


WHEN  DIMPLES  WIN        335 

The  change  in  Inspector  McGee's  face  ex 
pressed  his  emotion  as  clearly  as  though  he  had 
spoken  in  volumes.  His  skin  flushed ;  his  eyes 
grew  hard;  his  jaw  snapped. 

"You  didn't?" 

Again  Rosalie  shook  her  head. 

"What  do  you  mean — what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  let  him  go — I  helped  him  get  away,"  said 
Rosalie  Le  Grange. 

"Well,  by  God!"  cried  Inspector  McGee— 
"by  God,  we'll  get  him  and  you.  Fool  me, 
will  you — and  I'd  trusted  you!  If  you  think 
you  can  beat  a  general  alarm — where's  that 
doorman" — with  another  thought,  his  hand 
went  toward  the  battery  of  electric  bells  which 
could  summon  armed  men  as  from  the  ground. 
But  Rosalie  caught  his  wrist. 

"Wait!"  she  said,  "if  you  ring  that  bell,  you 
shut  me  up  for  good.  Do  you  think  any  little 
police  Third  Degree  can  git  anythin'  out  of  me 
that  I  don't  want  to  tell?  Your  one  chance 
to  get  the  truth  is  to  hear  it  now.  The  minute 
anybody  else  comes  into  that  door — I  close  my 
face.  Take  your  hand  away  from  there.  Sit 
down!" 

His  good  sense  reasserted  itself;  he  obeyed. 


336  THE  RED  BUTTON 

But  still  his  face  was  red  and  hard.  Then — 
though  Inspector  McGee  was  some  minutes  in 
noting  it  consciously — a  change  crossed  the 
countenance  of  Rosalie  Le  Grange.  Little  by 
little,  the  life  came  back.  One  by  one,  the 
lights  of  her  began  twinkling  in  mouth  and 
chin  and  dimples.  And  she  spoke: 

"Martin  McGee,  you're  free  to  look  for  that 
Perez  man  wherever  you  want.  You  won't 
get  him.  You'd  stand  a  chance  if  you  had  just 
him  on  the  other  side.  But  you've  got  me,  too. 
An'  you  know  me !  Now,  listen.  Maybe  this 
is  the  last  talk  we'll  ever  have  together,  an'  I 
want  to  put  it  straight.  You're  out  to  send 
that  boy  to  the  electric  chair,  just  like  you'd 
send  a  piece  of  stove  wood  to  be  burned  up  in 
the  fire.  You  ain't  thinkin'  about  anythin' 
else.  I  know  how  you  and  the  District  At 
torney  would  put  it  to  the  jury.  He  was  com- 
mittin'  burglary — he  stabbed  his  man — he's  a 
dago  with  no  pull — that  talk  about  apoplexy  is 
to  laugh.  But  I  ask  you  private — do  you 
think  he  deserves  it?" 

"Well,  that's  the  law,  ain't  it?"  growled  Mc 
Gee.  "That's  what  I'm  here  for." 

Rosalie's  heart  gave  a  little  jump.     But  she 


WHEN  DIMPLES  WIN         387 

controlled  her  expression.  He  was  willing  to 
argue  the  case — the  first  skirmish  was  won. 

"The  law!"  exclaimed  Rosalie.  "That  for 
your  law!  Golly,  I  could  carry  a  *  Votes  for 
Women'  banner  when  I  think  about  it!  You 
men  have  been  makin'  the  law  all  these  years. 
An'  you've  run  it  on  rules — nothin'  but  rules. 
Diagrams.  Did  he  do  it?  All  right,  hang 
him.  You  can't  look  at  things  except  on  the 
outside.  I  wish  you  did  have  a  few  women  to 
look  at  'em  inside  an'  out.  Once  in  a  while  one 
of  your  cussed  juries  uses  its  common  sense  an' 
lets  a  man  go  when  the  police  evidence  is 
against  him.  But  they  don't  do  it  themselves. 
No,  sir!  It's  their  mothers  in  'em — " 

"That  will  do,"  snarled  McGee;  "this  suf 
fragette  dope  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  case. 
Where's  Perez?" 

"Now  this  Perez,"  pursued  Rosalie,  treat 
ing  the  Inspector's  anger  as  though  it  had  not 
been,  "was  a  darn  fool — worst  fool  I  ever  saw 
— as  those  cute  little  men  generally  are.  But 
what  was  he  doin'  when  Hanska  died?  Get- 
tin'  his  own  from  a  crook,  the  property  that 
belonged  to  him,  in  the  only  way  he  knew. 
Suppose  it's  true  he  killed  Captain  Hanska — 


338  THE  RED  BUTTON 

did  ever  you  see  a  man  that  deserved  killin* 
more?  Besides,  he  didn't." 

"You  aren't  swallowing  that  yarn  about  apo 
plexy,  are  you?"  asked  Inspector  McGee. 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  Rosalie,  "who 
knows  Margarita  Perez  better,  you  that 
pumped  her  yesterday  afternoon  or  me  that 
watched  her  for  a  month?  Me  that  heard  her 
talk  her  soul  out  to  her  mother  an'  her  lover? 
I  tell  you,  she  told  the  truth." 

"Yes,  and  how  did  she  know  he  died  of  apo 
plexy?  She  wasn't  there — " 

"She  didn't  know  except  on  hearsay.  But 
I  do." 

"How?" 

"Because,  Martin  McGee,  just  because. 
That  don't  go  down  with  you,  though  comin' 
from  me  it's  the  best  reason  that  is.  But  this 
ought  to  fix  you,  even.  You  know  Cleary — 
I  don't  mean  the  sergeant,  I  mean  the  Coro 
ner's  physician  that  made  the  Hanska  autopsy. 
There's  some  Coroner's  doctors  I'd  trust  my 
life  with  as  soon  as  any,  but  Cleary — political 
appointment — you  know.  Do  you  think  that 
Cleary,  when  they  handed  him  over  a  man 
stabbed  in  the  heart,  looked  any  further  into 


WHEN  DIMPLES  WIN         339 

the  cause?  I'm  betting,  though,  that  even 
Cleary  must  have  seen  one  thing  which  would 
have  meant  something  to  anybody  but  a  politi 
cal  doctor.  I  saw  it  that  night.  And  this 
Perez — Estrilla — fellow  saw  it." 

"Oh,  you've  talked  to  him  then?" 

"That'll  come  in  later — if  you're  still  listenin' 
to  me.  Well,  before  he  knew  what  I  knew, 
this  Estrilla  told  me  that  Captain  Hanska, 
after  he  fell,  was  bleeding  at  the  nose.  I'd 
seen  that,  too — when  I  came  into  the  house 
ahead  of  the  doctor.  Now  here's  the  thing  to 
do,"  she  added.  "You  call  up  that  Dr.  Cleary 
right  now.  You  see  if  he  didn't  notice  it  an* 
just  walk  away  from  it — " 

Inspector  McGee,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
punctures  bubbles,  opened  his  .telephone. 

"Spring  double  O,"  he  said;  and  then  to 
Rosalie:  "You  can  listen  on  the  extension  if 
you  want  to."  His  voice  was  formal,  and  he 
averted  his  eyes. 

While  they  waited  for  the  police  central  to 
get  the  number,  neither  spoke.  Rosalie,  how 
ever,  regarded  him  with  an  expression  whereof 
the  main  tint  was  anxiety  and  the  undertone 
soft  mischief. 


340  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Dr.  Cleary?"  inquired  the  Inspector,  "In 
spector  McGee.  Doctor  have  you  your  notes 
on  the  Hanska  case?  The  autopsy  I  mean. 
In  your  pocket  note-book?  Well,  just  one 
little  thing.  Did  you  find  any  blood  on  the 
nostrils?" 

"Here's  the  record,"  came  back  Dr. 
deary's  voice  after  a  half -minute;  "slight 
bleeding  from  the  nostril,  caused  probably  by 
the  fall—" 

"That  will  do,"  said  McGee — "wait  a  sec 
ond — you  didn't  perform  any  autopsy  on  his 
head?  You  didn't  look  into  his  brain?" 

"What  was  the  use?"  came  back  Cleary's 
voice,  a  little  defiantly.  "He  was  stabbed  in 
the  heart,  wasn't  he?" 

"Now  who's  lyin'?"  said  Rosalie  Le  Grange, 
as  she  hung  up  the  telephone. 

But  there  was  still  a  snarl  in  McGee's  voice 
as  he  spoke : 

"You  think  you  can  monkey  with  the  law! 
You!  You  think  you  can  set  crooks  loose  just 
as  you  please  and  get  away  with  it !  It's  all 
very  well  for  you,  but  look  at  the  fix  you're 
leaving  for  me.  The  Hanska  case  is  cleared 
up.  Wade  is  innocent.  We've  had  the  wrong 


WHEN  DIMPLES  WIN         341 

man  all  the  time.  That's  joke  enough  on  us. 
But  when  we  find  the  right  one,  he  gives  us 
the  slip.  The  Big  Commissioner  will  get 
roasted  by  the  papers  and  hand  it  to  the 
Deputy  Cornish,  and  the  Deputy  will  pass  the 
buck  down  to  me,  and  I'll  have  to  report  how 
it  happened.  Yes,  and  I  will,  too!"  he  burst 
out.  "I'll  tell,  all  right!  Conniving  at 
escape.  You  know  what  that  means  ?" 

"Is  it  a  felony  or  a  misdemeanor?"  asked 
Rosalie.  "I  sort  of  forgot  which  it  was  at  the 
time  I  committed  it." 

"You  better  worry,"  replied  McGee.  "I'm 
going  to  do  my  duty  by  you." 

"Your  duty!  Yes,  I  forgot  that.  You  al 
ways  do  your  duty.  When  a  cop's  involved, 
for  instance.  When  Leroy  went  blind  drunk 
and  beat  in  the  head  of  that  boy — you  did  your 
duty  in  his  case,  like  a  little  man.  That's  how 
it  comes  Leroy's  livin'  on  Staten  Island  this 
day,  without  once  seein'  the  inside  of  a  State's 
prison.  Talk  to  me  about  duty !" 

"Look  here,"  said  McGee,  "you  can't  bluff 
me." 

"I  know  I  can't,"  said  Rosalie,  "an*  you  can't 
me,  either." 


342  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"Come,  out  with  it  then — what  have  you 
done  and  why  did  you  do  it?" 

"As  for  what  I've  done,"  said  Rosalie,  "tell- 
in'  you  would  be  spoilin'  it.  Why  did  I  do  it  ? 
I've  answered  that.  I  couldn't  trust  you  or 
any  man  alive  to  let  that  poor  boy  off.  Apo 
plexy?  You  snorted  when  his  sister  said  it, 
an'  you'd  be  snortin'  now  if  you  had  him  here 
in  front  of  you.  They'd  laugh  him  out  of 
court  on  such  a  plea.  They'd  laugh  him  to 
the  chair.  I've  saved  you  the  necessity  of  kill- 
in'  an  innocent  man.  An'  I  ought  to  be 
thanked,  not  kicked." 

"You'll  get  worse,"  said  Martin  McGee; 
"you'll  go  up — that's  what  will  happen  to 
you!" 

"Now  will  I,"  mocked  Rosalie,  breaking  out 
her  dimples,  full-blazon,  for  the  first  time  in 
two  days.  "What  an  awful  trick  on  a  lady! 
Especially  when  you'll  have  to  do  it  yourself. 
You're  the  only  witness — the  only  person  who 
knows  that  I  promised  to  deliver  Estrilla. 
You're  the  only  person  that's  heard  me  confess 
I  let  him  get  away.  So  you'll  be  put  on  the 
witness-stand,  an'  then  I'll  be  put  on  the  stand. 
An'  I'll  testify  how  the  New  York  police  were 


WHEN  DIMPLES  WIN         343 

baffled  with  the  real  criminals  passin'  right 
under  their  noses  twenty  times  a  day,  an'  how 
a  poor  boardin'-house  keeper  that  used  to  be  a 
medium — jest  a  plain,  good  old  soul — took  a 
hairpin  an'  a  thimbleful  of  common  sense  an' 
got  a  confession  an'  made  you  all  fools.  My 
lawyer'll  get  it  in;  an'  if  he  don't,  the  papers 
will,  because  I'll  tell  'em.  I'll  be  at  home  in 
my  cell  to  every  reporter  in  New  York. 
There's  a  lot  of  'em  would  like  it  right  now. 
But  of  course,"  she  added,  flashing  her  dimples, 
"I  won't  try  to  bluff  you.  No,  indeed.  You 
can't  be  bluffed. 

"Marty  McGee,"  she  added,  "let's  git  down 
to  cases.  You  can't  do  a  thing  to  me  that'll 
help  your  position  at  all.  I'll  go  to  jail  for 
life  an'  never  tell  where  Juan  Perez  has  gone. 
But  if  you'll  listen,  I'll  show  you  just  how  to 
fix  this  without  trouble  for  anybody." 

Inspector  McGee  was  now  playing  with  a 
flexible  paper-knife,  his  downcast  eyes  fixed 
upon  it  as  he  twisted  it  back  and  forth. 

"How?"  he  asked  in  a  voice  from  which  the 
bluster  had  gone.  Nothing  could  have  better 
proved  the  logic  in  Rosalie's  combination  of 
wroman-wit  and  common  sense. 


344  THE  RED  BUTTON 

Rosalie  established  herself  comfortably  in 
her  chair. 

"Well,  it's  a  funny  thing  for  us  to  do — you 
an'  me — tell  the  truth.  Not  quite  the  truth, 
either;  the  truth  fixed  up  a  little,  which  is  the 
best  kind  of  a  lie  that  is.  Give  out  what  hap 
pened — but  say  your  own  smartness  cleared  up 
the  case,  not  mine.  Get  Dr.  Cleary  to  certify 
that  he  found  apoplexy  at  a  more  careful 
autopsy,  made  after  the  Coroner's  inquest,  but 
that  he  suppressed  the  report  at  the  request  of 
the  police.  You  can  force  him  to  do  that  to 
save  his  skin ;  his  work  is  gittin'  careless  enough 
so's  one  more  slip  would  make  his  political 
backers  drop  him.  Say  the  theory  that  a  man 
died  of  apoplexy,  just  when  a  knife  was  held 
at  his  breast  ready  for  him  to  fall  on  it,  was  so 
strange  an'  unusual  that  you  couldn't  believe 
it  in  the  beginnin'.  So  you  held  Lawrence 
Wade  until  you  made  sure.  Say  you  suspected 
Miss  Estrilla — Miss  Perez — from  the  first,  an' 
learnin'  that  she  was  superstitious,  had  her 
worked  by  a  police  stool-pigeon  who  played  at 
bein'  a  professional  medium.  Say  your  men 
listened  to  the  seances,  an'  broke  in  at  the  end 
an'  pulled  the  whole  story  out  of  her.  An'  if 


345 

that  ain't  awful  near  the  truth,  I  never  made 
up  a  lie  that  was." 

"I  fail  to  see  how  that  excuses  us  for  letting 
Estrilla — Perez — go,"  said  Inspector  McGee, 
with  a  stir  of  sarcasm. 

"That  point,"  said  Rosalie,  "is  the  best  thing 
I've  thought  out — the  very  best.  Up  to  the 
confession — that's  our  story — you  hadn't  the 
least  idea  but  Miss  Estrilla  done  it  all  herself. 
We'd  never  thought  about  their  changin' 
clothes.  An'  when  you  got  the  confession,  you 
sent  out  to  arrest  him,  but  he  was  gone — prob 
ably  tipped  off  somehow.  How,  search  me! 
I  haven't  thought  out  a  good  lie  there.  May 
be  you'll  have  to  invent  that  yourself.  Other 
wise  it'll  just  be  one  of  the  mysteries  of  the 
New  York  Police  Department.  Reprimand 
you!.  Why  they'll  give  you  a  medal !" 

McGee  still  looked  down  at  the  paper-knife. 

"That  ain't  all,"  he  said;  "you  fooled  me, 
that's  what  you  did.  You  made  a  fool  out  of 
me." 

At  this  Rosalie  fired.  A  light  came  into  her 
eyes  that  rolled  ten  years  from  her  age — the 
light  of  anger.  A  color  came  into  her  cheeks 
that  took  off  another  ten — the  pink  of  con- 


346  THE  RED  BUTTON 

tempt.  "Make  a  fool  of  you,  Martin  McGee ! 
I  only  made  a  fool  of  one  person.  That's  me, 
Rosalie  Le  Grange.  Who  took  all  the  risks 
in  this  job?  You?  Not  a  bit  of  it!  Me, 
Rosalie.  And  what's  more,  Martin" — she 
paused  and  gulped;  and  something  came  into 
her  face  that  reduced  her  to  a  girl — "who 
did  I  do  it  for?  Me,  Rosalie?  I  guess  not. 
What  was  there  in  it  for  me  ?  When  this  tiling 
broke,  I  was  independent  and  living  my  own 
life — an'  a  clean,  self-respecting  life.  Do  you 
think  I  wanted  to  do  it?  Well,  you  can  bet 
not.  I  started  this  job  mainly  'cause  I  didn't 
want  to  see  the  fine  young  fellow  Wade  go  to 
the  chair  an'  because  I  didn't  want  to  see  that 
beautiful  young  thing  broken  for  life — I  mean 
Constance  Hanska. 

"But  after  I  got  into  it,  I  realized  that  I  was 
workin'  more  for  somebody  else  than  I  wras  for 
them.  And  that  somebody  else  was  you,  Mar 
tin  McGee.  I'd  a  given  it  up  long  ago  if  I 
hadn't  kept  my  mind  on  you.  An'  I'd  become 
fond  of  that  sick  Estrilla  woman  and  of  that 
little  brother  of  hers.  But  I  went  right  on. 
Do  you  suppose  I  like  to  do  what  I  did  to  them? 
Well,  you  never  made  a  bigger  mistake.  I 


WHEN  DIMPLES  WIN         347 

ain't  what  I  used  to  be.  When  I  brought  back 
her  father  and  mother  to  trick  that  poor  Miss 
Estrilla,  I  just  gagged.  But  after  I  found 
that  she  wasn't  guilty,  nor  him — in  a  manner  of 
speaking — I  had  to  hand  them  a  square  deal 
just  like  the  rest.  I'd  done  everything  I  could 
think  of,  Martin  McGee — but  I  couldn't  kill 
a  man  I  liked  and  sympathized  with,  just  to 
help  your  career.  An'  so  I  done  the  next  best 
thing.  I  fixed  it  so  nobody  would  be  involved 
in  it  but  me.  I  could  have  told  you,  an'  per 
suaded  you,  maybe,  that  the  right  thing  was 
to  let  this  Perez  get  away.  But  you'd  have 
been  my  accomplice.  You  couldn't  have  gone 
on  the  stand  an'  sworn  clean — as  you  can  now 
— that  you  had  nothin'  to  do  with  it.  I  kept 
you  out  of  it.  I'm  here  to  take  my  medi 
cine.  I  never  whimpered  yet,  an'  I  won't  now. 
An'  that,  Martin  McGee,  is  why  I  fooled 
you!" 

Never  had  words  poured  so  fast  from  the  lips 
of  Rosalie  Le  Grange.  And  as  they  poured, 
many  expressions  chased  across  Inspector  Mc- 
Gee's  clean-shaven  police  face. 

"Is  this  the  truth,  Rose?"  he  said — and 
gulped.  "Is  it  the  truth?" 


348  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"It's  the  truth  if  anybody  ever  told  it,"  she 
replied. 

He  was  on  his  feet  now ;  she  rose  also. 

"You're  a  wonder  of  the  world,"  he  said. 

"I've  always  maintained  that!"  she  replied, 
her  old  self  dancing  in  her  dimples. 

Martin  McGee  who  had  never  perceived  that 
an  intelligent  woman  may  look  twenty  and 
forty  in  successive  hours — whose  heavy  police 
mind,  in  short,  had  little  skill  to  weigh  finer 
values — knew  not  that  love  goes  by  contrasts, 
that  the  Lord  Archer  smites  never  so  surely 
and  certainly  as  in  the  moment  when  jealousy 
or  suspicion  are  departing.  He  never  under 
stood  why  his  defenses  fell  all  at  once,  why  his 
arms,  working  as  though  in  defiance  of  his  will, 
encircled  Rosalie  Le  Grange. 

When,  a  month  before,  Martin  so  exploded 
in  her  presence,  Rosalie  had  wrenched  herself 
away.  If  she  lay  unresisting  in  his  arms  now, 
it  was  because  she  had  seen  his  face.  And 
Rosalie  Le  Grange  knew  above  all  things  how 
to  read  faces.  She  yielded  her  waist,  but  not 
yet  her  lips. 

"Martin,"  she  asked  softly,  "is  this  on  the 
level?" 


WHEN  DIMPLES  WIN         349 

"It's  on  the  level,  Rose.  Rose,  I  don't  care 
^— for  anything.  I  want  you  to  marry  me!" 

The  doorkeeper  had  been  told  not  to  disturb 
Inspector  McGee.  We  will  join  the  door 
keeper.  It  seems  more  tactful.  Let  us  merely 
glance  in  on  them  ten  minutes  later.  They 
are  seated  again;  and  McGee  is  patting  her 
hand,  ponderously  but  yet  softly.  Rosalie's 
eyes,  usually  so  big  and  grave — in  such  contrast 
with  her  smiles  and  her  dimples — are  shining 
as  we  have  never  seen  them  shine  before. 

"How  did  it  come,"  asked  Martin,  "that  you 
could  ever  take  to  a  great  big  cow  of  a  fellow 
like  me?" 

The  mischief  danced  in  her  dimples. 

"Because  you  are  so  big  an'  mutton-headed!" 
she  said.  Then  the  dimples  went  away,  and 
the  eyes  again  reigned  over  her  expression. 
"Because  you're  a  real  man,  Marty.  Because 
you've  plugged  ahead  and  done  things,  an'  be 
cause  you're  a  brute,  too,  I  guess.  It  ain't 
good  for  a  man  to  be  too  kind  an'  smart. 
That's  for  the  woman — that's  my  part  in  this 
combination.  An'  besides,  the  way  your  hair 
grows  in  front  is  cute— 

"Aw,  cut  that  out,  Rosalie" — this  in  a  tone 


350  THE  RED  BUTTON 

of  infinite  tenderness — a  tone  as  playful  as 
comports  with  the  dignity  of  an  Inspector. 

And — but  we  had  better  rejoin  the  door 
man. 

Only  we  should  glance  in  just  once  more. 
Inspector  McGee,  as  though  struck  with  a  sud 
den  humorous  idea,  is  saying: 

"It's  funny,  Rosie — here  we've  got  engaged 
— and  I  don't  know  your  real  name !" 

"That's  how  I'm  sure  you  love  me,  Martin. 
When  folks  are  in  love,  they  don't  ask  no  ques 
tions.  Well,  it's  Rose  Granger,  if  you've  got 
to  .know,  born  Smith.  A  widow — sod,  not 
grass.  I  married  Jim  Granger.  He  was  no 
good,  but  I  cared  for  him  till  he  died.  You've 
got  thirty  years  or  so — because  I  sense  we'll 
both  live  long — to  listen  to  what  Jim  Granger 
did  to  me.  We've  other  things  to  talk  about 
first.  Marty,  you  haven't  given  me  an  en 
gagement  present." 

"You'll  get  a  diamond  solitaire  as  soon  as  I 
can  beat  it  up-town!"  said  Martin. 

"Somethin'  else  first.  I  want  you  to  fix  it 
so  the  New  York  Police  Department  makes  an 
awful  bluff  at  findin'  Juan  Perez — an'  never 
looks  in  the  right  place." 


WHEN  DIMPLES  WIN        351 

"I  guess  I  can  promise  that,"  laughed  In 
spector  McGee.  Less  than  a  half  an  hour  be 
fore,  he  had  been  talking  about  his  duty;  but 
one's  ideas  of  duty  vary  according  to  the  shift 
ing  lights  of  circumstances. 

"An'  for  a  weddin'  present,"  pursued  Rosa 
lie,  "I  guess  you  can  see  that  this  poor  sister 
never  gets  put  through." 

"That's  easy,  too,"  replied  McGee.  "Say 
— now  that  everything  is  fixed  up,  where's  that 
Estrilla-Perez  person,  anyhow?  What  did 
you  do  with  him?" 

"That  information  is  goin'  to  be  my  weddin' 
present  to  you,"  responded  Rosalie  Le  Grange. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

t 

TAKING   STOCK 

*  *  T  T  OW'S  this  head-line  for  that  stocking 
A  A  job?"  asked  Tommy  North,  sud 
denly  looking  up  from  his  writing,  "  'Mountain 
Climbers  Wear  Our  Hose  And  Come  Back 
Without  a  Hole'?" 

"Pretty  good,"  replied  Betsy-Barbara  from 
her  corner  by  the  typewriter.  "Now  get  the 
rest  of  it."  She  resumed  her  furious  little  stabs 
at  the  keys. 

The  sudden  conclusion  of  the  Hanska  case 
left  Betsy-Barbara  afloat.  She  could  not  go 
back  to  Arden  if  she  would,  and  she  would  not 
if  she  could.  It  was  her  whim  to  remain  in 
New  York;  but  the  select  young  ladies'  semi 
naries  of  the  metropolis  hesitated  to  employ  a 
young  woman  who  had  figured  so  consistently 
on  the  front  pages  of  the  yellow  newspapers. 
Between  trips  in  search  of  employment,  Bet 
sy-Barbara  continued  to  typewrite  the  corre- 

352 


TAKING  STOCK  353 

spondence  of  the  Thomas  W.  North  Agency. 
Tommy,  indeed,  had  offered  her  regular  em 
ployment  as  his  clerk.  She  spurned  that  offer, 
holding  it  to  be  mere  gratitude.  When  she 
had  learned  the  trade,  she  said,  she  might  ac 
cept  a  position  as  typist,  and  not  a  minute  be 
fore.  Betsy-Barbara  was  vastly  improved  in 
technique.  She  could  draft  a  passable  circular 
letter  in  not  more  than  three  attempts  and 
twenty-five  minutes. 

Tommy,  unruffled  by  her  businesslike  re 
minder,  continued  to  view  Betsy-Barbara. 
Presently  the  pencil  dropped  from  his  hand. 
He  turned  in  his  swivel  chair  and  called:  "Bet 
sy-Barbara!"  in  a  tone  wholly  inappropriate  to 
office  hours. 

Being  a  woman,  she  caught  it. 

"Tommy  North,"  she  said,  without  looking 
up  from  the  keys,  "read  me  that  motto  over 
your  desk!" 

'  'Business  Thoughts  in  Business  Hours,' ' 
read  Tommy,  obediently. 

"Well,  what  does  that  mean?"  asked  Betsy- 
Barbara.  And  she  continued  to  write,  "re 
spectfully  solicit  your  patronage  for  the  Thom 
as  W.  North  Agency."  At  least,  that  is 


354  THE  RED  BUTTON 

what  she  thought  she  was  writing.     As  a  mat 
ter  of  fact,  what  she  produced  was  this : 

respec  fully  silicityour  patrona  nage  for  teh 
2Thomasw  North  agency." 

"But  what  I  want  to  talk  about  now,"  re 
plied  Tommy  in  a  wheedling  tone,  "is  a  matter 
of  business.  I've  been  taking  stock.  This 
fine-going  concern  made  last  month  a  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  above  light,  rent,  office  ex 
penses  and  overhead  charges.  That  revolver 
contract  and  that  beauty-parlor  deal  are  as 
good  as  permanent.  By  Christmas  we'll  be 
making  a  hundred  dollars  a  week." 

"You'll  be  making,"  corrected  Betsy-Bar 
bara  as  she  jerked  back  the  typewriter  car 
riage  to  begin  the  struggle  with  another  line. 

"That's  the  point  of  these  remarks.  You 
ought" — he  paused  here — "you  ought  to  have 
a  share." 

"If  you'll  kindly  turn  your  eyes  to  the  panel 
beside  the  door,"  said  Betsy-Barbara,  "you'll 
see  a  card  which  reads  'Business  is  Business.' 
The  idea  of  talking  partnership  to  a  mere  sten 
ographer  who  hasn't  learned  her  trade!" 

"That  isn't  fair.     You  always  put  me  in 


TAKING  STOCK  355 

the  wrong,  somehow.  You  know  you're  re 
sponsible  for  the  whole  thing.  Who  made  me 
start  this  concern?  Who  got  me  to  cut  out 
the  booze  and  go  into  business  for  myself?" 

"Well,"  replied  Betsy-Barbara,  "a  tract  or 
a  preacher  might  have  done  that — anything 
which  set  you  on  the  right  way  at  the  right 
time.  And  you  wouldn't  think  of  offering  a 
partnership  to  a  tract  or  a  preacher." 

"Betsy-Barbara!"  called  Tommy  again. 
And  on  that  name,  uttered  all  too  gently  for 
the  address  of  a  stern  employer  to  an  inexpert 
stenographer,  he  rose  and  crossed  to  her  side. 
Somehow  she  did  not  protest — although  she 
continued  to  look  down  on  the  keys.  Her 
fingers  stopped. 

Tommy  gulped;  and  his  first  words,  as  he 
settled  on  the  stool  at  her  side,  were  far  from 
his  original  intention — and  further  still  from 
strict  business. 

"Betsy-Barbara — why  did  you  play  around 
with  that  poor  devil  of  an  Estrilla?" 

"If  I  wanted  to  be  impertinent,  I'd  ask  how 
that  concerns  you,"  replied  Betsy-Barbara, 
saucily.  "Well — because  I  liked  him,  I  sup 
pose." 


356  THE  RED  BUTTON 

"You  didn't  like  him  too  well?"  inquired 
Tommy. 

"Of  course  not — now,  I'm  just  sorry  for 
him,"  she  replied.  Then,  as  though  duty 
drove,  she  picked  up  an  eraser  and  began  furi 
ously  to  eradicate  a  figure  "2"  which  she  had 
printed  for  a  quotation  mark. 

"Do  you  remember,"  Tommy  pursued,  "the 
last  time  I  got  drunk — the  last  time  I  ever 
will?" 

"The  shoe-buckle  night?  Yes."  She  re 
sumed  typewriting  with  furious  energy  and 
utterly  incommensurate  results.  But  even  the 
noise  of  the  typewriter  could  not  silence 
Tommy  now.  And  when  she  came  to  the  end 
of  the  line,  she  stopped  again. 

"You  never  knew  why,  of  course!"  said 
Tommy.  "Do  you  remember  some  one  coming 
into  the  front  hall  and  going  right  out  again? 
That  was  I.  You  were  sitting — I  saw  you 
looking  at  him — I  thought — " 

"You  didn't  think  right,"  responded  Betsy- 
Barbara.  She  paused  while  the  truth  in  her 
struggled  against  woman's  instinct  to  use  strat 
egy  in  that  branch  of  human  activity  which 
is  woman's  chief  business.  The  truth  won. 


TAKING  STOCK  357 

"That's  funny.  You  saw  me  when  I  was 
nearer — well,  liking  him — than  I  ever  was  be 
fore  or  after.  He  was  a  dear.  You  couldn't 
help  being  amused  and  flattered  by  him — but 
nothing  else." 

"Why  didn't  you  like  him  really — what  held 
you  back?" 

Betsy-Barbara  pulled  over  the  carriage  for 
another  line — not  with  a  jerk  this  time,  but 
slowly  and  softly.  At  the  same  languid  pace, 
she  resumed  striking  the  keys. 

"Do  you  call  this  business?"  she  asked — but 
very  weakly. 

Tommy  North  laid  a  hand  upon  hers,  stilling 
the  keys  under  her  fingers. 

"Betsy-Barbara,  this  is  business.  I  was 
talking  partnership.  I  didn't  mean  that  kind. 
You  know — oh,  blazes — I  meant — why  did  I 
brace  up  and  go  to  work,  anyhow?  It  was 
because — you — I  love  you — there,  that's  out!" 

Betsy-Barbara,  her  hand  still  helpless  be 
tween  the  keys  and  his  greater  hand,  raised 
her  face.  If  she  had  shone  before  with  elfin 
light,  she  shone  now  with  the  light  of  many 
angels.  The  sheen  and  glitter  of  her  hair,  the 
fire  of  her  eyes,  the  sparkle  of  her  little  teeth 


358  THE  RED  BUTTON 

behind  her  parted  lips — all  the  glory  which 
makes  stars  and  systems  and  beasts  and  the 
generations  of  men — illuminated  and  trans 
formed  Betsy-Barbara.  An  instant  so,  and 
that  light  faded.  The  elfin  light  shone  again. 
And— 

"Tommy  North,"  she  said,  "are  you  pro 
posing  to  me  right  in  business  hours?  Get 
back  to  your  seat !  Your  answer  will  be  trans 
mitted  to  you  in  business  form." 

There  was  hope  and  yet  wonderment  in 
Tommy's  face  as  he  obeyed.  Betsy-Barbara 
tweaked  the  sheets  from  the  roller,  inserted  a 
new  page,  and  began  to  type  very  fast — for 
her.  She  finished.  She  was  suffused  with 
color  as  she  drew  out  the  page  and  laid  it 
on  Tommy's  desk.  He  turned  to  read;  and 
Betsy-Barbara's  hand  brushed  his  cheek  ever 
so  lightly. 

mR  Thomas  WNorth; 
dear  sir; 

Your  pro  positiin  is  accepted 
and  I  trust  tha  t  the  ensuig  partnership  will  be 
long  adn  prosperous  yurs  sincerelly 

ElizabethLane. 


TAKING  STOCK  359 

"Business  forms  must  be  maintained  even 
in  this  solemn  and  awful  moment,"  said  Betsy- 
Barbara. 

"Well,  there's  one  thing  about  being  a  high 
cop  that's  worth  while,"  remarked  Martin  Mc- 
Gee,  "y°u  certainly  do  get  swell  attention  in  a 
lobster  palace." 

Inspector  McGee,  in  his  dinner  coat  and  his 
diamonds,  sat  in  the  preferred  corner  farth 
est  from  the  music.  Rosalie,  reigning  oppo 
site  in  two  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  dia 
monds,  eight  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  clothes, 
three  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  massage,  and 
a  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  hair-dressing  and 
hat,  followed  with  smiling  eyes  a  wave  of  agi 
tation  which  ran  from  waiter  to  waiter  until 
it  broke  at  the  door,  in  a  spray  of  Italian- 
Swiss-French  gestures,  against  the  head  waiter 
and  majordomo.  The  lady  with  Inspector 
McGee,  the  lady  whom  he  brought  regularly 
— so  an  excited  waiter-captain  explained  to 
his  chief — had  complained  of  a  tainted  clam. 
It  was  frightful,  terrific,  the  head  waiter  re 
plied.  Some  one  must  suffer.  Inspector  Mc 
Gee  might  never  come  again.  Some  morning 


360  THE  RED  BUTTON 

after  hours  the  bar  would  be  raided.  Mdche! 
Accident  e! 

When  McGee  had  condescended  to  accept 
apologies,  he  resumed  to  Rosalie: 

"I  don't  even  have  to  pay  for  my  New- 
year's  Eve  table  reservations.  That's  what 
it  is — being  a  cop!" 

Rosalie  dropped  her  pink  right  hand  on  her 
pinker  left  one,  and  fell  to  playing  with  a 
new  diamond  solitaire  that  dimmed  for  size 
and  luster  all  her  other  jewels.  Her  dimples 
threw  back  an  answering  flash. 

"Enjoy  it  while  you  can,  Marty,"  she  said. 
"It  won't  be  long.'* 

Even  yet,  Inspector  McGee  reflected,  Ro 
salie  Le  Grange  had  surprises  for  him.  He 
did  not  realize,  for  he  was  no  seer  of  the  fu 
ture,  that  she  would  be  giving  him  just  such 
surprises  all  his  life  long. 

"What's  new  with  you  this  time?"  he  in 
quired,  smiling  indulgently. 

"Nothin'  with  me,"  replied  Rosalie,  "only 
I'm  breakin'  the  news  to  you.  Inspector  is 
as  high  up  as  a  policeman  can  get.  Your 
days  on  the  force  are  numbered,  Martin  Mc 
Gee.  An'  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind  yet," 


TAKING  STOCK  361 

she  added,  dimpling  now  not  on  the  diamonds, 
but  on  him,  "whether  to  make  you  Democratic 
boss  of  the  State  Senate,  or  just  leader  of 
Tammany  Hall!" 

That  day  was  raw  November,  with  a  wet 
sticky  suggestion  of  rain  in  the  air.  From  the 
colonial  piazza,  where  Constance  stood,  wait 
ing,  the  grounds  rolled  away  cold  and  naked 
to  the  great  double  gate.  A  cluster  of  bare 
elms  hid  the  farther  reaches  of  the  walk  from 
her  view.  He  who  was  coming  would  ap 
proach  unobserved  until  he  was  almost  upon 
her.  In  the  whirl  and  perturbation  of  her 
spirit,  she  found  herself  thankful  for  that. 
Whatever  happened,  it  would  come  sud 
denly. 

Rosalie  Le  Grange  and  every  one  else  most 
vitally  concerned  in  the  Wade-Hanska  case 
had  considered  it  best  that  she,  the  too-ro 
mantic  heroine  of  these  events,  should  be  in 
hiding  when  Lawrence  Wade  came  out  of  the 
Tombs,  a  free  man.  One  must  consider  the 
newspapers — always  the  newspapers,  with 
their  photographers,  their  special  writers,  their 
insistence  on  the  "human  interest"  features  of 


362  THE  RED  BUTTON 

this  celebrated  case.  So  even  before  Captain 
McGee  flashed  to  the  headquarters  reporters 
that  Margarita  Perez,  detained  in  the  criminal 
ward  at  Bellevue  Hospital,  was  the  solvent  of 
the  Hanska  case,  Rosalie  removed  her  secretly 
to  this  friendly  country  place  near  Arden. 
Days  followed  in  which  the  reporters  tracked 
Lawrence  Wade  at  all  hours  in  order  to  dis 
cover  him  in  the  act  of  meeting  Constance. 
In  that  period,  he  scarcely  dared  write,  lest 
the  address  on  an  envelope  might  betray  her 
whereabouts.  Now,  in  the  general  march  of 
events,  the  interest  in  the  Hanska  case  had 
become  dulled.  And  to-day,  in  this  very  hour, 
he  was  coming — with  what  message  on  his 
lips? 

In  the  distance  sounded  the  whistle  of  a  lo 
comotive  ;  a  column  of  white  smoke  rose  above 
the  bare  trees.  She  glanced  at  the  watch  on 
her  wrist.  This  was  his  train.  In  five  min 
utes  he  would  emerge  to  view  from  behind 
that  clump  of  trees.  In  five  minutes,  she 
would  know. 

Or  would  she?  The  hopes,  the  fears,  the 
sick  fancies  of  a  week's  waiting  whirled  in  her 
mind.  She  leaned  against  one  of  the  pillars 


TAKING  STOCK  363 

for  support,  while  she  went  over  everything 
again. 

She  knew  her  heart  now — irrevocably.  But 
he?  From  the  moment  when  the  tragedy 
came,  he  had  said  no  word,  no  single  little 
word,  which  meant  love.  In  their  visiting 
through  the  bars  of  the  Tombs,  he  had  done 
everything  to  keep  up  her  spirits.  He  had 
been  incredibly  gay,  unbelievably  tender.  He 
had  behaved  as  though  she  were  the  afflicted 
and  he  the  comforter.  He  had  joked  when 
she  knew  that  his  laughter  only  cloaked  a  hell 
of  impatience  and  suppressed  apprehension. 
When  her  courage  seemed  about  to  break,  he 
had  put  new  spirit  in  her  through  the  excess 
of  bravery  in  his  own  great  heart.  But  never 
once  had  he  renewed  the  declaration  which  he 
made  long  ago,  before  the  trouble  came,  before 
he  knew  her  story. 

Was  it  honor  with  him — or  was  it  something 
else?  How  far  he  would  go  for  honor's  sake, 
she  knew  best  of  all.  It  was  like  him  to  re 
fuse  the  consolation  of  her  love  at  a  time  when 
a  tender  from  him  might  mean  only  shame 
for  her.  But  did  he  love  her  still?  Suppose 
that  she  had  become  to  him  only  the  incarnate 


364  THE  RED  BUTTON 

symbol  of  his  trouble?  Suppose  that  the 
thought  of  her,  now,  only  renewed  those  medi 
tations  on  shameful  death  which  must  have 
haunted  his  nights  in  prison?  Such  things, 
she  knew,  had  happened — must  happen. 

Then  there  was  one  more  aspect  of  his  honor 
to  reckon  with.  Would  he  not  feel  that  he 
had  compromised  her  in  the  eyes  of  the  world? 
Loathing  her  as  the  cause  of  his  sorrows,  would 
he  not  consider  it  his  duty  to  offer  his  own  life 
in  expiation?  How  would  she  know — how 
would  she  ever  know? 

She  must  wait  and  dissemble.  She  must 
hold  herself  very  even  and  calm.  She  must  be 
cordial  and  friendly  and  a  little  distant,  as  she 
used  to  be  in  the  gray  days  before  the  black 
ones.  She  must  smother  her  heart  until  some 
sign — 

A  step  crackled  on  the  dried  leaves  about 
the  turn  of  the  path.  From  about  one  of  the 
bare  brown  trunks  appeared  a  man's  figure. 
And  at  the  sight,  a  very  calm  of  indifference 
settled  over  the  spirit  of  Constance.  So  the 
devotee  who  has  anticipated  the  sacrament 
through  nights  and  days  of  raptures  finds 
herself,  as  the  priest  approaches,  without  a 


TAKING  STOCK  365 

ripple  of  emotion;  so  the  coward,  who  has 
shivered  through  eternities  of  agony  at  the 
thought  of  the  ax,  finds  himself  incapable  of 
thought  or  feeling  or  action  in  the  presence  of 
the  headsman.  She  simply  leaned  against  the 
pillar,  her  soul  as  blank  as  her  eyes. 

He  was  a  tall  man  and  stalwart,  with  a 
fine  resolute  jaw  and  straight  blue  eyes  which 
were  dancing  now  with  a  feverish  light.  At 
the  sight  of  the  figure  by  the  pillar,  a  flush  had 
come  into  his  face;  but  apart  from  the  two 
spots  of  color  which  it  made,  his  skin  was  very 
pale.  Lines,  new-creased  in  his  young  skin, 
ran  backward  from  his  eyes. 

His  step  quickened  as  he  perceived  her,  but 
he  said  no  word.  Now  he  had  come  so  close 
that  he  might  almost  touch  her;  and  she,  still 
leaning  against  the  pillar,  moved  neither  hand 
nor  tongue  nor  eye.  He  stood  close  beside  her 
on  the  piazza  and — 

"Forever  1"  he  said. 

Constance  swayed  forward  into  his  out 
stretched  waiting  arms. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

HAPPY  EVER  AFTER 

Senor  Juan  Perez, 

Peralta, 
Argentine  Republic, 

South  America. 

Dear  Friend: 

Received  your  letter  last  month  and  was 
glad  to  hear  that  everything  is  going  well 
with  you.  Thank  you  for  the  picture.  I  see 
you're  just  as  handsome  as  ever.  If  you  wear 
those  clothes  all  the  time,  though,  your  laundry 
bills  must  be  something  fierce.  Both  Martin 
and  I  are  glad  you're  doing  so  fine  in  a  busi 
ness  way.  I  knew  you  would,  once  you  set 
tled  down — guess  the  jolt  helped  you.  Trou 
ble  with  you  at  the  start  was,  you  went  up 
against  the  big  game  too  soon.  But  I  am 
most  pleased  to  hear  that  your  sister  is  be 
ginning  to  get  kinder  in  her  feelings  to  me. 
Lord  knows,  everything  I  did  was  for  the  best. 

366 


HAPPY  EVER  AFTER         367 

Am  also  glad  to  hear  that  her  health  is  good 
and  she  is  getting  stout.  I  bet  she's  as  hand 
some  as  a  picture,  now  she  hasn't  anything 
on  her  mind. 

In  regard  to  a  certain  event  three  years 
ago,  would  say  that  it's  all  blowed  over. 
Marty  still  drops  in  at  headquarters  a  good 
deal,  and  I  had  him  look  it  up.  He  says  it 
would  be  perfectly  safe  for  a  certain  party 
to  go  back  to  Port  of  Spain,  though  he  wouldn't 
advise  visiting  this  land  of  the  free  and  the 
home  of  the  brave  for  quite  some  time.  Not 
that  he  expects  anything  would  happen — but 
it's  best  to  be  on  the  safe  side. 

Well,  Martin  and  I  are  getting  on  fine.  He 
comes  up  for  reelection  in  November — fact  is 
we're  campaigning  now — and  it  looks  like  a 
sure  thing.  Martin  still  thinks  I'm  the  smart 
est  and  prettiest  in  the  world,  and  I  take  care 
that  he  won't  get  on  to  me — but  oh,  my  dear, 
my  massage  bills  are  something  fierce  I  We 
just  live  in  a  whirl.  Seems  like  we're  never 
both  home  to  dinner  unless  we  have  company. 
Marty  is  going  ahead  so  fast  I'm  afraid  he'll 
be  President  of  the  United  States  before  I've 
learned  enough  law  to  run  this  country.  We 


368  THE  RED  BUTTON 

go  to  church  regular — in  our  own  district. 
I'm  getting  so  careful  with  my  grammar  that 
I  almost  never  talk  like  I  want  to,  except  when 
Martin  and  I  are  alone. 

Now  as  regards  friends  of  yours  and  mine, 
I'll  tell  you  all  the  news  I've  got.  Do  you 
remember  that  Miss  Harding  in  the  boarding- 
house?  She's  Marty's  stenographer  now,  and 
a  mighty  good  one.  We're  so  afraid  she'll 
get  married  sometime,  and  Marty  will  lose  her. 
Miss  Jones  is  married — lives  somewhere  up 
Yonkers  way.  Mrs.  Moore  has  gone  over  to 
Jersey  to  keep  house  for  an  old  uncle.  Guess 
she  expects  some  money  from  him  when  he 
dies.  Poor  Professor  Noll  broke  down  last 
winter  and  was  in  the  hospital  for  a  month.  I 
knew  it  was  coming — no  human  stomach  could 
stand  those  slop  victuals.  I  went  to  see  him 
as  often  as  I  could  and  talked  to  him  like 
a  mother.  Well,  he's  eating  his  steaks  and 
chops  now  as  regular  as  the  day  comes  round. 
He's  very  much  interested  in  a  new  fancy  kind 
of  religion — it's  called  "The  Thought  of  the 
Age."  I  can't  seem  to  get  the  hang  of  it 
— but  the  point  is  that  if  everybody  would  get 
together  and  think  the  same  thought  all  the 


HAPPY  EVER  AFTER         369 

time  for  a  piece — why,  something's  going  to 
happen.  I  guess  likely. 

Betsy-Barbara  and  Mr.  North  live  in  a  little 
house  on  Long  Island,  and  Mr.  North  com 
mutes.  He's  making  so  much  money  he  says 
he's  ashamed  of  it.  They  have  twin  boys,  and 
if  ever  I  saw  limbs — well,  Betsy-Barbara  is  on 
the  jump  all  the  time  keeping  them  from  com 
mitting  fifty-seven  varieties  of  murder  and 
suicide  they've  thought  out  for  themselves. 
Martin  says  he's  glad  he's  given  up  his  old 
job,  for  it  certainly  would  be  up  to  him  to  get 
them  both  "life"  some  day.  But  I  notice  he's 
ready  to  go  over  there  every  time  we're  in 
vited,  and  he  spends  the  whole  time  playing 
with  those  youngsters. 

The  Wades  are  still  abroad.  Their  little 
daughter  was  born  in  Florence.  Mrs.  Wade 
nearly  died,  but  she  didn't  mind — that  child, 
judging  by  the  pictures  they've  sent,  is  a  per 
fect  little  angel.  Mrs.  Wade  says  her  name 
is  Betsy-Barbara  and  she's  the  apple  of  her 
father's  eye.  They'll  come  back  next  spring. 

Well,  I  guess  that's  about  all.  I  gave 
Marty  your  invitation,  but  he  says  he  can't 
$ee  time  ahead  to  take  a  long  vacation.  If  we 


370  THE  RED  BUTTON 

ever  can,  we'll  come  down  there  and  visit  you 
with  great  pleasure.  And  so,  with  love  to 
your  sister  and  best  wishes  to  yourself,  in 
which  my  husband  joins  me,  I  remain, 

Yours  truly, 
ROSALIE  McGEE, 
New  York, 

October  2,  19 — . 


THE  END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


A  000  924  446  8 


PS 

3517 
I722r 


